Palholes

I learned a new word this week:  “Palholes.”

Palholes are those people we sometimes have in our lives who masquerade as friends but are really assholes.

For example:

• The “buddy” who stays close with your ex after she eviscerated you and spent all of your money; or,
• The “caring” friend who picks at your deepest vulnerabilities until you explode and then, incredulous, asks, “Why are you yelling at me?”

Why do we maintain these relationships? Meaning, why do I maintain these relationships?

Fear of dying alone.

Until one day, I realized: I have already died and I was alone and I lived to tell about it.

None of the palholes were there. It has taken a long time to realize this was a deep deep blessing.

When I die again, I will hasten the process if any one of my palholes is with me.

So: Time to let them go.

• Goodbye friends who congratulated me on my promotion by asking for money.
• Goodbye friends who invite me out and then tell me they will "get me next time” when the bill comes.
• Goodbye friends who will only piss on me after I provide a detailed explanation (with footnotes) of how I got set on fire in the first place. Does any of that really matter in the midst of conflagration?
• Goodbye friends who complain that my success makes them “look bad.”
• Goodbye friends who provide personal “kindnesses” with the expectation of professional gain.

Looking at the above list while contemplating the metaphysical principle of “We attract what we put out,” I wonder: Am I really that much of an asshole?

I would rather this be a case of “opposites attract.”

Either way, it appears that some asshole reduction is in order, whether it be external or internal (I suspect a mixture of both is what’s required).

Be forewarned: That sucking sound you hear from The North is going to last a while.

Question

My heart has been broken all over again every single day this year since 01/27/10. 

When in the hell is it going to stop?

Decorum, People

While I do love Facebook, I think that too many people share too many intimate details. 

Don't get me wrong; I am really really happy for you that your Pap Smear actually felt good.  I just don't want to think about you in that way (the way that has me picturing you moaning -- in the good way -- over a speculum).

Similarly, I do not want to picture that (thankfully benign) mole/pimple-like thing on the surface of your left testicle.

I mean, really.

Suggestion #1

Why do we have to work through things?

Why can't we PLAY through them?

Update

I know people can die from worry.

I am not going to be one of them.

I hope.

"Giving Myself to You Was Like Giving Myself to a Chainsaw"

That about sums it up.