People say "I don't give a fuck" so often it's almost started to lose its meaning. People who don't give a fuck don't need to advertise it, because they don't give a fuck. It's like saying when you go to a party that That One Guy is there and somebody says, "Did you know he's here? Should we leave?" and you say, "I don't care if he's over there drinking a PBR tallboy, talking to that skinny bitch who "forgot" to put on a bra. Jesus, somebody give her a sweater. She's obviously freezing, the slut." If you actually didn't care if he was there you would have said, "Oh, he is? Huh..." Or even better, "Who?"
I try to be a scrupulously honest person, so if That One Guy is still bugging me I'll say that he's still bugging me, but I've had occasion to do the, "I don't care. Really. I don't," dance before while deep down, maybe so deep down I can fool myself most of the time, I know that yes, I do care.
But the other day I stopped caring.
There was this guy, and, well... sparing you the details my feelings were hurt. It wasn't a bad hurt, and I knew I would recover, but that didn't make it hurt less at the time. This led to me spending several days inserting his opinions into everything I did. "Would he like this? What would he say... What would he think... What would he do...?"
And then one morning I was in my kitchen, doing nothing important, and I had an idea I thought was the coolest and I wondered, "Would think this was as cool as I think it is?" And then a little voice said, "No, he wouldn't. Not at all. He doesn't appreciate what you do and he doesn't appreciate your ideas and no matter how hard you try he will never, ever, get how awesome you are."
Just like that, I didn't give a fuck.
It wasn't me trying to make myself feel better, it wasn't a conscious thought. It just was. A truth I felt to the depth of my soul that he would never realize what an amazing person I am.
All of a sudden I realized all the ways I had let him influence me. I wanted to dance in the kitchen, so I did. I wanted a gin and tonic so I had one. I threw out the junk food and had a cup of yogurt. I took my stuffed bunny off the shelf and put her back where she belonged on my dresser. I wanted to put on makeup and rat my hair into an enormous beehive and wear my highest heels and go out and dance until I could barely stand and maybe let a handsome stranger buy me a drink. I did all this not to spite him, and not as a rebellion against the habits I had formed with him. I did it I didn't owe him anything. So I did all those things with an enjoyment and freedom I hadn't felt in weeks.
That's what it's like when you really don't give a fuck.
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