ich verstehe nicht

There is nothing I love more than being told I understand something that I’ve just finished explaining I don’t.

It’s not humiliating enough for someone like me to look another person in the eye and say, “Yo, I don’t get it, do you think you could explain that to me?” I want to make sure there isn’t a shred of self-confidence left, so can you look at me like I’m an imbecile and insist that I do? That would be great, thanks!

Most people don’t have the issue that I do with admitting that a concept is beyond their grasp. I would rather saw off my own foot with a marginally sharpened popsicle stick. When I tell you that I don’t understand something, I’ve already had 17 internal conversations and played out at least a dozen scenarios where I have lied to you about my knowledge and comprehension. That, in and of itself, is impressive. Now, you want to add water to my grease fire? Okay, but I can’t guarantee your safety.

My sanity on any given day is delicate at best. I’m never certain when I wake up if I’m going to feel like I can take on the world or if a pet food commercial is going to make me cry and question societal norms. You’re better not speaking to me until after you’ve established the following: a) have I been to the gym? b) have I had coffee? c) am I menstruating? You want the answers to the first two questions to be yes, and if you really need help with the third, then you deserve whatever fresh hell I serve you.

I was in a relatively good mood today. I say “relatively” because with me, it’s always relative. Are you hungry? I could eat. Are you in a bad mood? I’m not in a terrible mood. Relative: it keeps me from resolve or backing myself into a corner of being one way or the other. It allows for wild mood swings. I change moods quicker than soccer moms change panties in park bathrooms after the game before going home to their husbands. Like most things though, it was relative, so its lifespan was short lived.

Presented with a task I didn’t understand, we locked eyes and I said those three magic words. I. Don’t. Understand.

The nerve of this motherfucker! I was in disbelief…

Me: I don’t understand.

Them: Yes, you do.

Did you not just hear me say that I didn’t understand some shit? Sound the fucking trumpets! Don’t stand there looking at me like I’m speaking another language. My ass will jump on Amazon and purchase you Rosetta Stone – which edition do you need? Clearly, we have a breakdown in communication. I’d like to help resolve it, but I’m not certain I can do anything about it without either bawling or throwing something directly at your face. Jail time is probable for me. I’m already thinking of places to bury the body.

I’ll wait till they leave the room to start throwing shit…they’re bigger than me. I’ve already copped to being stupid, my ego can’t take my losing a physical fight too.

Note to self: always fully sharpen popsicle sticks and keep several on my person.