It’ll Still Be Two Days Till I Say I’m Sorry

February 11, 2016

I think I may have a punchable face.

I can’t explain what makes it so punchable, exactly. I have a wicked case of RBF that is often misunderstood. Sometimes I get a little too into hockey fights and probably deserve a good punch in the face just to even things out. Maybe my freckles spell out “Punch Me,” but I never noticed because I always see them backwards in the mirror.

I’m not sure what it is, but lately it seems like a lot of people want to punch me. This surprises me because I’ve always thought of myself as the kind of person who should not get punched. In fact, I go out of my way to avoid ever giving anyone the impression that I ought to be punched.

This does not include the month after I saw “Rocky” for the first time, when I repeatedly asked my dad to let me take up boxing. In that situation I was literally begging to be punched.

And yet all of the sudden, there seem to be quite a few people out there who want to fight with me. I’m struggling to find any reasonable explanation besides my inherently punchable nature.

Explanations I’ve Considered

1. I’m putting bad energy into the universe and it’s coming back to me, according to Oprah.
2. Misdeeds from a past life are finally catching up to me.
3. I said a bunch of really insulting things to a lot of people recently and then hit my head, losing all memory of my actions.
4. My parents were not joking when they said I needed an attitude adjustment as a teenager, and this is life’s way of telling me.
5. I accidentally signed up for a reality show.
6. I truly have wronged these people in some way, and because I am occasionally oblivious and often self-absorbed, I failed to notice and made everything worse.

I think we can all agree that every explanation on that list, #6 in particular, is completely absurd and that my very punchable face is clearly the root of all of this recent conflict.

Like many humans, I hate conflict. Oh, I talk a big game. I’m an opinionated gal and whenever I think I’m right about something I make sure everybody knows it. In my head, I’m a total badass. In my head, I’m like To Kill a Mockingbird-era Atticus Finch in an argument.

Pictured: Me in a fight.

How Fights Work in My Head

1. You start an argument with me.
2. Pow! I hit you with an intellectually sound argument demonstrating that you are wrong.
3. Pow! I hit you again with a humble but poignant lesson in morality.
4. Pow! I give you a little bit of wisdom about growing up in rural Alabama.
5. Pow! I shoot a rabid dog in the street because — although I have compassion for animals and would never, ever kill a mockingbird — I’m not afraid to do what needs to be done while reminding everyone that I have the skills to back all of this up.

That’s not how reality works, though. In reality, I am more like a wet noodle with limp, noodley arms and a doughy, punchable face.

Like an overcooked ravioli with chin acne.

How Fights Work in Real Life

1. You start an argument with me.
2. I spend three days avoiding eye contact with you.
3. I spend three more days pretending that you are Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life and you were never even born.
4. I whine to everyone but you about the argument.
5. I fantasize about how nice it must be to be a dictator and force everyone who disagrees with you to go work in a mine forever.
6. I feel bad about that fantasy because dictators are bad, bad people and I don’t really want you to go work in a mine forever. Mostly.
7. Instead of dealing with the problem, I burn the bridge. But not in an honest, “Hey, I’m burning this bridge now!” kind of way. In a sneaky, blow-up-the-bridge-at-night-and-then-pretend-I-was-nowhere-near-the-bridge-and-convince-you-that-you-must-have-burned-it-yourself-I-can’t-believe-you-don’t-remember-doing-that kind of way.

It’s all very healthy and brave of me. I don’t know why I’m like this. I suspect it has a lot to do with having noodle arms, and hating emotions, and wanting to be liked by everyone all the time.

What I do know is that it’s time to grow up, get over myself, and repair these relationships instead of abandoning them because I’m a chicken. It’s just that the conflict-avoidant part of me is not on board with this plan and now I’m fighting with myself.

It’s getting really bad, too. I haven’t talked to me in nearly a week.

 

Written by Listful Thinking Posted in Growing Up, The World Is a Terrifying Place Tagged with conflict, fighting, Humor, list, Listful Thinking