Pretty sure I'm a jerk.

Writing this dumb blog these last few months has revealed a few things:

• I’m kinda boring. My aspirations to become an “influencer” have been stymied by the fact that I don’t do anything. This suits me. If the rest of my days are spent stringing beads, railing at the news, and being slowly beaten to death at tai chi, I’m fine with that. But how many times can I write it? My vast readership deserve better (I think there are three of you, and I sincerely thank each of you for even your most tepid support.)

• I’m fairly odd. Again, that’s fine. I’ve made peace with it over the years, but I’m not sure how “relatable” a 61-year-old, not quite entirely cisgender obsessive gay guy with the interests of your average 16-year-old girl is to the average general-interest blog consumer? Case in point: I’m obsessed with making trifling fashion accessories of sparkly stones and a bit of string, while the world burns down around me. This is perfectly normal, right? It’s still fresh, interesting and engaging content, right? Right. 

• I’m actually kind of a jerk. I don’t say that in the affectionate, self-deprecating way. I mean it literally: Reading some of my own words here, I’ve come to realize: I can be a real prick. For someone who used to expend vast amounts of energy on being perceived as “likable,” for someone who was always a team player and all-round Swell Guy, I seem to be leaving a trail of hurt feeling and bitter tears behind me. I’m not a nice guy, there I said it. I have never been a nice guy. Sorry I coddled your feelings for so long, but I’m simply not in the appeasement business anymore. 

And, last but not least, I’m a total self-obsessed fucking narcissist. The world is ending, and all I can write about is me.