Caring for others is a huge part of the human experience. Having a love/hate relationship with others is another big part of life. I have a love/hate relationship with my dog. I take care of him because I know it’s the right thing to do, but I also fantasize about tricking him into running into traffic. It wouldn’t be very hard. All I would need to do is chase after him with a vacuum or running DVD copy from a Fourth of July celebration. He hates loud noises. I think he fought in Nam. Maybe that’s what he dreams about when he squeals and kicks his feet while in dream land.
(Tom Berenger also hates loud noises. The flash of paparazzi cameras gives him seizures. Good thing nobody cares about him anymore)
Sometimes I sit myself down and wonder if anyone cares about me. It can be a tough question to ask yourself. “Does anyone really care about me?” Of course people care about you. Your boss depends on you. That creepy fat woman you always see on the bus adores you. Even your government needs you once WWIII breaks out. All of them care. I care. Your existence gives me more hits to my blog. Everyone has a purpose. Yours might simply be numbers.
There’s caring about someone and then there’s caring for someone. Caring about someone means you don’t want them to die. That’s about the extend. Caring for someone means you go out of your way for them. You make sacrifices. When they feel pain you feel it too. Hopefully we all have people in our lives where this goes both ways. I like having people around who I can cry in front of and my tears alone make them cry. It’s powerful. It feels like we’re playing Simon Says. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery after all. Why is it? Because if you behave like someone it means you want to be them. You want to share the emotions with them no matter how bad. It’s a true sign that someone cares.
Even bigger than caring about someone or caring for someone is just plain old caring. You don’t even need to add anything else to it. Caring is much harder to find. I don’t think anyone truly cares. Before you stop yourself and do your best sighing voice with your hands on your hips getting all uppity, let me explain. I’m sure you care about me. I’m sure you care for me. Caring to me is caring about what I care about. Are you following along? It’s complicated. If it wasn’t complicated then I wouldn’t be writing about this to try to figure it all out. I had an epiphany while walking into WalMart about this. I get a lot of epiphanies at weird times. I also had another one very inconveniently. To keep things PG I will just hint that something that should have been hard went soft at the worst possible time. Use your imagination.
(I had showed up expecting to play hardball, but my friends wanted to play softball. I didn’t bring the right mitt!)
There are plenty of things in life I care about that are specific to myself. I care about the way I look. I know that seems shallow on the surface, but who doesn’t care about the way they look? Ugly people. That’s who. I just like to not only be told how awesome I look, I also like when people make an effort to make me look better. Buying me cool clothing or telling me when I have a stray nose hair can help me out with this. I also don’t really like being told I am handsome. Handsome men smoke cigars, gel their hair down, and sexually harass women with a smile. I don’t smoke anything, I barely comb my hair, and when I sexually harass a woman it’s with a baseball bat, not a smile.
(Winston Churchill with a cigar in his mouth looking very…handsome? Okay, there goes my theory about handsome men smoking cigars)
Another important thing in my life which is much less shallow are the people in it. Friend(s), family, and people who can be used for car rides places are all very valuable. It’s important that these people respect each other even when they don’t get along. I have had friends in the past who hated each other. It never bothered me much because I enjoy fighting and it never affected my friendships. At the very least it takes knowing who the important people in each other’s lives are to show that you truly do care. A name isn’t that hard to memorize. Half the guys I know are named Mike anyway. Know the role players in someone’s life and they will know you love them.
A big part of my life is writing. Like sometimes I worry it is what my social life has completely become. Not that I don’t mind most of the time. Words on a computer can’t cancel on you when you plan on going to the beach. A sentence has never told you she overslept when you were supposed to go out to breakfast and you really knew she was out hanging with someone else. I love when people take an interest into what I’m writing. Even if they think it’s terrible I appreciate any interest. Things I write are important to me because they are a part of me. Anything I write is me trying to communicate. When people do not take an interest then I feel as if it is no different from me speaking to them and being ignored. It’s a hard thing too because I am always interested in reading other people’s work. Sometimes it’s to see a train wreck. I would pay some people I know to try to be entertaining. I know they would fail. They were not born a monkey with cymbals like I was.
(All I’m missing is the fez and swollen pink feet)
Not only does it take an active interest in what is important to me to show you care, it also takes trying to get to know every little thing about me. I could never care about someone who doesn’t try to psychoanalyze me. I analyze everything. You should be the same way. You don’t have to be psychotic about it like I can get. What I believe is important is that you not only understand what I do, but also why I do it. Who was mean to me when which causes me to do certain things? I can never deny someone into my life who tries to “figure me out.” Here’s a little hint if you ever try to do such. I’m not as complicated as I seem to be. None of us are. We all want the same basic things. Mostly, someone who cares.