It's just business nothing personal

In the course of two days I have said the sentence “I am not a very compassionate person” at least 6 times. I tried giving that some thought; assigning it some personal responsibility, but I came up with only two possibilities for why I lack compassion: 1) you’re an asshole and probably deserve it 2) it’s just business, don’t get bent out of shape.

If you present me with a situation that would generally fetch feelings of sympathy and/or empathy, chances are I will react with such unless you’re a walking colostomy bag. I usually have something kind and soothing to say; maybe some shit you’d read in self-help book  only 10 x more vainglorious or perhaps a Hallmark card, and 7 out 10 times I actually mean them. In fact, I have trouble not reacting to the baggage of another human being. I usually offer to carry and then store their shit under my bed; because I’m helpful like that. If you’re missing any of your traumatic life events, bad habits, and shitty relationship drama or any character defects – they’re probably under my bed in alphabetical order; first my owner then by disorder because OCD is alive and well in me. You’ll need to fill out a field-trip permission slip if you want to take them with you for a while, but you’ll need to bring them back too if you want to continue to bitch and gripe about the same problems that brought them here in the first place. I am loving and tolerant but that tolerance is finite.  

I have been providing counseling services for a few people in my life for some time now. Unpaid counseling services; so you can imagine how invested I am in providing sound advice. “What? Yes, of course telling your girlfriend that she’s being a moron is the proper course of action. She is indeed being an asshole.” Giving out this advice comes at a price though. Rarely is my advice heeded. I have no idea why; it’s sound fucking advice. I end up with my head planted firmly in my hands imagining what it would be like to pummel that individual; to beat them into a state of reasonableness. Drinking isn’t an option for me these days and jail is a real place; I never much cared for the thought of communal showers and sharing toilet paper rolls so I resort to fantasies about random acts of violence. If you ask me for advice and don’t like what I have to say; it’s just business, don’t take it personally. Consider yourself lucky; there’s likely a whole host of shit I’m not saying to you out of some form of deluded respect. Don’t worry though, my brain will catch up and when it does, my mouth takes over – better buckle up.

People aren’t always receptive to the feedback I give them. I get that; no one likes the dirty truth. That however, is exactly what you’ll get if you ask my dumb ass. I can try to sugar coat that bitch to safeguard your feelings, but I’m less than sterling where handling things with delicacy is concerned. My ability remain congenial through all of this instead of rolling my eyes or exerting and open gasp of “oh, for fuck sake!” is about as tiring as pushing a semi up hill in a pair of heels and a mini skirt – because the heels alone I could probably handle. I don’t have a disdain for people and their problems; on the contrary, I want to help everyone. I want to help everyone so long as they listen to me and do shit my way. If I wanted to be heard and then ignored, I’d talk at my 10 yr. old. Hmmmm…maybe I’m the asshole? Nah! Fuck off. Remember tolerance is finite.

Tolerance is finite. Patience is finite. My attention span is finite. All things being equal, I’ll end this tragic thing here. I’m not a compassionate person; if you want to ask something, go ahead. If you don’t like my response a) you’re an asshole or b) it’s just business, don’t take that shit personally.