Keep Sitting

When I was little, laying stomach down on the downstairs carpet, I looked up at the big screen in front of me and the big robots and was repulsed by what I saw. One robot was telling another robot he liked him or something, (maybe I'm remembering this wrong), and the show of affection, appreciation, admiration, made me turn away. It made me uncomfortable.

My grandmother called me her sunshine boy. This made me uncomfortable.

When my dad still wanted to kiss me, even after I'd grown, and the objection I had could be summed up by the feeling of his bristling mustache on my cheek.

Anytime my mother would say how good of a writer I am, how much she loves my letters and why don't I get a job writing. I'd be so good at it.

When I wasn't cool like the other kids in 7th grade so my teacher would single me out to yell at at the front of the room or across the room or when it was just me and her in the room.

Falling asleep in class and becoming known for it, taking it on as a side of pride, boasting at all the positions I could fall asleep in.

Every time some kid asks me, "What's that in your ears?" Every time someone, in direct conversation, casts a glance to the side of my head, at my hearing aid. One of a pair. Every time someone raises their voice too loud when I ask them to repeat themselves.

When she says she likes me and I say I like her back and it is good and then quickly over and I regret ever saying anything.

And I never want to say anything again. How is it worth being uncomfortable, exposed, putting myself out there -- and that is an effort. "Putting". It doesn't come naturally to talk about these things. That witnessed affection, it's always forced.

We enjoy closeness. A touch of the hand. A kiss. Hugging and holding and snuggling. But done as an reaffirmation of feelings, as a show of possession in public, this is forced, this is "putting". It's uncomfortable.

Comfortable is honest.

Being yelled at at the front of the room, if I'd been able to accept myself and my actions and move past them, it would have been comfortable to YELL BACK.

My mom says I'm a good writer? She's right.

My dad wants to kiss me? It's only love. Let love.

I can't hear? Yeah, I can't hear. Read a book.

I like to sing. Deal with it.

And when she says she likes me? She doesn't have to. I don't have to hear or say the words out loud. Just be honest. Watch some fucking t.v. and eat Chinese. Touch a little. Maybe a lot. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I don't know. Someone said the word to me recently and I've been thinking about it. Uncomfortable is sitting wrong in a chair and what do you do? You move. Was the first position wrong? No. It was just the first position. And this is the second. There will be a third, fourth, five millionth, infinity, infinity plus one, jinx. We like chairs and regardless of how it feels: keep sitting.

Uncomfortable's the reality, comfortable's the goal.