So, I think I’m just no fun. That’s the clear conclusion. It doesn’t matter, and doesn’t bother me overmuch, but it’s what I believe my problem is. I’m a serious person… usually. And when I’m not, I guess I’ve got a dirty and sarcastic sense of humor that is generally fun-loving and chill, but there’s really only so much I can do to make myself into someone others want to spend time with. And to be honest I don’t believe I should have to do that much to transform myself. I shouldn’t have to change to please those who don’t care.
If I’m not entertaining enough, or sociable enough, or flirtatious/charming/shallow enough? Well, I hate to say this, but I’ve made my peace with that a long time ago. I am who I am. I wouldn’t change it. I thought about it, yesterday for a little while. I could play those games, I could cake on layers of fake and gooey glamor that’d strike a bombshell chord in whoever talked to me. I could wear the right clothes, say the right things, climb a social ladder of sickly sweet smiles and “hey, honeys.” For some people, that works. That’s who they are. I could do it, too. If I chose.
Just the thought of it makes my stomach roll. I don’t think I’d be able to stand it. I’d rather take the no fun and the semi-lonely melancholy that accompanies than adopt a slick glaze of false.