I’ve been perusing my previous writing, and I have come to the conclusion that I am, in no uncertain terms, a juvenile self-important asshat.

Luckily, that doesn’t stop me from getting out of bed at some point after sunrise and possibly lunchtime.

First, what kind of asshat doesn’t edit their writing before they post it? And then, what kind of juvenile person says the same things people have been saying for years, like it’s big news? Not to mention most of these things have already been expounded upon ad nauseum by people far more important than I. Sooooo….

What was the point? Ohhh yes, I’m here to say, I acknolwedge my asshatness but on priciple alone I make little or not apology for it, because I cannot think of anyone I have ever met who was not, in some bold way, a similar type of hat.

Now on to the things that are on my mind. I’m taking a different approach this time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about innocent people. I mean, statistics make it obvious that a ton of innocent people go to jail. That, for some reason, terrifies me more than anything I can think of, including public speaking and bees or even combining those and speaking at a bee convention which would just be awful.

I’ve been doing WAAAY TOO MUCH thinking about the experience of these people, and I’ve ended up in their shoes emotionally, which has given me a fricken miserable week-ish. First, I think about how much like murder it is. But like, a conspiracy to murder, involving the original criminal, previous lawmakers, the family of the victim, everyone on both sides of the lawyers tables, the judge, the jury, and the public at large.

That’s where it gets emotional. Which means I could have had something rather well thought out except that I panic right here. All of a sudden I envision my family (who, in my vision, is basically Rudy Huxtable and some neighbors) hugging it out that I’m going to prison, and wanting to really experience the loss, but knowing that there’s this seed of doubt in their minds – what if she did it? So then they feel unable to call their friends and talk about it because if I’m in jail for something, then people are going to be sure I did something wrong.

Then I picture me. I’m sitting in a cell, right, and no one in prison believes I’m innocent either, because I’m so adamant about it. Which may be too much to assume but fear is making me imagine worst case scenarios.

Now I’ve got all my acquaintances talking smack about me and my family. THEN I’ve got to cope, right? Whatever it is, it’s going to be something I could never imagine having done, so now I’ve got an identity crisis because what my life looks like outside is not what it looks like inside.

I mean I could go on, but can you imagine all the people I’d have to forgive. How helpless I’d feel, and how without hope. Then to think that I can’t get anyone to look for whoever the criminal actually is? And even if they can show I’m innocent, do you know how hard it is to get someone out of jail? And even if I got out, there would always be this label following me, creating suspicion.

So.

I’ve come to the conclusion that my greatest fear in the world is not being trusted.

What if no one trusted me?

I’d be isolated in my entire reality, that’s what.

I know my last few posts have made me look a little (a lot) paranoid schizo looneytown.

But if I don’t think about this stuff, who will? I mean isn’t this kind of an unreachable group of people?

This whole thought process has taken me out of the sense of safety that I had – that if I don’t do anything wrong, I don’t get in trouble. You can’t trust that, man.

Now I have a sense that I am always exposed. That at any time, any nutjob or faulty law could impose itself onto my life. If innocent people are punished, stigmatized, and marginalized then nobody is safe.

And the point is (I always like to say the point because I know I write total nonsense and like the butt that I am, I am again not going to edit before I publish, I’m drunk with power I tell you) that I have become incredibly unsettled over something that does not affect me at all, exists only in potential, and undermines my sense of all that is moral and good.

I could talk about it forever and I’m sure that one day I’ll be able to more poetically and less frantically address this grim issue, but for now my steps are panic, ramble, publish. Yeah it’s embarassing. Publish!