I was just given this handy little piece advice:
‘you’d be amazed how little time everyone else spends thinking about you’.
Apparently, other people are actually far less concerned with the idiot things I say and do than I ever thought.
Well screw them. If I’m going to invest my time developing my paranoia and use up much of my day imagining conversations and pre-screening every word I speak, then I should be entitled to a reasonable level of attention.
What’s the point of making a British ass of yourself onstage or being stood up in a bar or tripping on an up escalator if people aren’t going take the time to stop and laugh and talk about you later? It’s pure selfishness. Stop thinking about yourselves and focus.
My paranoia did pay off a few weeks ago when I believed I was the subject of some local gossip. That kept me suspicious and miserable for quite a while, but it’s starting to wear off. When will I next socially embarrass myself? Leaving the house wearing slippers? Lame. Leaving the house wearing only slippers? Better, but too contrived.
Oscar Wilde apparently said ‘there’s only thing worse than being talked about. And that’s not being talked about.’
But he was gay in the 1800s so he always had an advantage. Lucky bastard.