Last night was a sort of awakening for me, regarding my stance in society and my social prospects. Like almost everyone else who is poor or destitute, I've long held firmly to the belief that I'm a worthless piece of shit that nobody with all their teeth and all their brains would desire rapport with. This belief is subconscious, of course, and made all the more difficult to acknowledge because I've wrapped it in a veneer of class-warfare arrogant disdain for the meritocrats and aristocrats who inhabit the floating world above me.
Techno Destructo and I were sitting on our “stoop” — a step around the corner from the building he currently lives in and I used to — drinking beers, smoking weed, and listening to music from my phone; the usual — when out of nowhere I find myself engaged in a long conversation with a girl named K—, who had just sold some clothes to the Buffalo Exchange across the street. I don't even know if I can remember how long it's been since I so thoroughly enjoyed a conversation with anyone other than my little Moon Goddess! Ayn Rand even managed to slip into the list of topics.
Did I get those digits? No, and I probably should have attempted to, since now that I've decided to quit drinking (for good? Let's hope so!) and resume (albeit halfheartedly and half-assedly) looking for work, I'm in sore need of new acquaintances. Perhaps that's the true measure of my self-confidence, the fact that I balked at taking the exchange to the next level ... because at the end of the day even people who ladle soup out to us bottom feeders don't want to hang out and play cribbage with them. Still, it was nice to spend time with someone not totally fucked up or wasted or crazy like the vast majority of my peers.
Not that this isolated incident belied my Untouchable social status, mind you. It's just nice to occasionally encounter an exception to the rule.
