You Are Not Me

I almost feel like a cow that's gone down. I've gotten so lazy it's ridiculous. I use any excuse to not do nothing. Why would I not? There's some things I can't abide getting used to any more. It appears as if my tolerance for hanging with people until they out themselves has taken a hiatus.

I say the same thing back to people they say to me or others. I try to imitate their voices and just say the words as much like they did as I can. I've never had anybody recognize their own words when I repeat them verbatim. I doubt if I do either.

That's a very strange phenomenon to me. Whose words can people claim to understand if not their own. It all started when I recognized that other people were seeing themselves in me, and accusing me of being them. That's a hell of a thing. They literally appear to think I'm what they are to themselves. It did make it a lot easier to not take things people say so personally.

I don't mean to suggest that what the other accuses me of is how they are. They could be, but I haven't found that to be the case too often. What's really going on is that they seem to feel as if I should conduct myself according to the dictates of their rules of conscience. That, I should let their conscience be my guide. I can't. I got rules of conscience against allowing that to happen.

There is a reason people don't remember they just told me what I just said to them. It happens because of the species-wide flaw I keep venting about. The pivotal ritual between two strangers when they meet is that the first thing they do is deny each other's existence. Each of them says in their own mind about the other, "You're not me." They say that to rocks and buffalos too, primroses not withstanding.

In other words, because they both deny each other as themselves, one person can't be saying the same thing the other told them, as if they were the person they spoke to previously.