Okay, so here's another example of how one thing can have far-reaching tentacles digging in all over.
Today happened that someone, a stranger, approached me too closely.
No malicious intent; just a bubbly, effervescent sort of personality.
No one, but no one, approaches me; if so inclined, I go to them instead.
Because God has a sense of humor, God however gave franksolich the aura of being utterly approachable, the sort of impression that attracts dogs, small children, pretty women, the whole span of humanity. Since they have that impression, they think I'm actually that way.
Uh, no.
When such happens, on the inside, I recoil back, shuddering as if a rattlesnake pulling back to decide whether or not to strike. Because I'm a good actor, this shows on the outside only a little bit, and fortunately much of the time it's so subtle the other person doesn't notice it.
I am after all a polite person.
It's even worse if someone an utter stranger to me, actually touches me.
If I'm the one doing the approaching, it's all copacetic, no problem.
I've always wondered if this was something made necessary by deafness, or if it's a mental problem.
But at the same time, I've always been sure that keeping a distance (both physically and emotionally) is exactly that very same thing that has preserved me from catastrophe and disaster, in a life fraught with all sorts of perils.
I think it's half a dozen of a good thing, six of a bad thing.
