I'm having trouble writing lately. No, it's not that I'm lacking topics. Plenty of things are on my mind, as one minute passes into the next. Plenty is probably an understatement. A hummingbird flapping its wings would do well to keep up to the constantly changing litany of thoughts that pass through my cranial membrane.

The problem with writing is that I get about 3/4 of the way through a rant about something, and it becomes vividly clear to me that the cause and remedy to any and everything I want to rail on about in the world, is in my head. The architect of my misfortune and my misery are none other than myself.

I have to break this cycle. Which is proving harder than I thought to do. There is a self-perpetuating series that always takes any event or occurrence, breaks it down into its base parts, and saves only the uncomfortable or misfortunate bits and scatters all the rest to the winds. I'm doing this every time. All the time. I'm starting to see this in myself, now that I'm looking. But the observation alone is not sufficient to solve the problem.

How about we use an example?

"Are you bringing a guest to the Christmas party?"

This does not just SEEM like an innocuous question. It IS an innocuous question. No one passes any judgement based on the answer. There are no truths revealed by responding to this query. It is JUST a question. She meant nothing by it, and probably forgot about my answer by the time she exited my door.

On the other hand, I found this question annoying, invasive and offensive. Let's just let that sink in by including a more or less useless sentence here. I was annoyed that she asked me that. I found the question invasive because I didn't want to answer it. And I frankly am not sure why it was offensive.

My point is, no one cares. Except I care. And I shouldn't because it doesn't matter for any reason. But the reaction is so visceral and immediate that I throw up my guard and am instantly aggressive. Which of course means that I'm bitterly remorseful about ten minutes later. The whole cycle repeats again the next time and I never get out of this lock-step between anger and remorse.

I know why this one question bothers me. The girl asking it is one I've fantasized about being the answer to it. She doesn't say yes when I feebly attempt to ask. Thus I feel toothless and infirm when I have to go over this again with the same girl.

Not that this answers the whole issue fully, because I hate the question anyway. It reminds me, in a vivid way that is impossible to ignore, that I'm not succeeding at something I've made a priority.

I am beginning to see the reasons why this is always a failure. I'm not doing this right. The only thing people see of me are traits that are undesirable. I'm aggressive and angry about almost anything that doesn't go according to my plan. I'm oafish and stupid when I'm not rigidly paying attention. And I'm so cerebral that these constant and continuing failures make me perpetually remorseful and crestfallen. Thus I'm giving out nothing that anyone has any reason to want to return kindly.

This is not however, the answer to changing my fate. This is only step one. I have itemized that my behaviour, and my mental outlook, is the cause of my misfortune. I fail because I set myself up to fail, with my negative thoughts and my unpleasant attitude. It is step two that is the difficult one. I analyzed it quickly enough to figure out what the cause was. But I'm not so certain about the answer.

I'm trying. I'm paying attention to my own thoughts, but more importantly to my voice. Typically I am quick to deride something. I will use some epithet or curse at it/them full of venom. I'll never get rid of it but if I can at least tone it down, or even teach myself not to lash out like that, then maybe there is hope. But the greater answer is to not jump to react, because it only leads me to turn all my insults and fury back on myself. If I can stop reflecting everything mean and awful I say about everything else into my own view of my self-worth, then maybe I have a hope of being seen for less of a monster than I am.