My Year of Being Indifferent

I know I’m not a sociopath, but I’ve always known that my box of paints has significantly less colors than everyone else’s.

That said, here’s a quote that hits hard, from the end of The Cut’s “Cringing at the Martin Shkreli Love Story” (also titled “All The Time I Wasted Trying to Please Indifferent Men”

“I’m still that needy, anxious kid going over the “Haha,” hoping it means something — except now it’s all the more sad because I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

I thought about it. Yes, I know how that feels. And then I decided: that’s going to be me. Not the needy, anxious kid — but the indifferent object of affection.

Nobody notices or cares that much about others, anyway. It makes no difference whether or not I care about others. It’s just that I’m going to consciously stop caring about anyone except me, me, me.

Mystery butcher

mystery butcher

I always walk past this butcher.  And I always thought how stupid it was, to have an empty meat case.

And yet they seemed to be doing pretty good business. I would occasionally see a customer inside, and the butcher would be cutting up a rack of ribs. The place has all this fancy equipment inside, a gigantic walk-in freezer, and all that jazz. I would silently judge their life choices. Empty meat case! Really?

And then I actually read the sign. 개고기 = dog meat. Ha! Mystery solved.