Inspired by...
Sep. 28th, 2005 06:25 pm...an ironic comment from
dpolicar, and a (friends-locked) posting from
redhound.
"(P)eople really don't read what you write. They read some sort of virtual text constructed from your title, a few fragments of your text, and whatever preconceptions may be stimulated by them. It's sort of amazing watching people rant about your failure to consider things you explicitly addressed."
"Hey, what do you have against reactions that completely miss your point? You want us all to understand you and respond relevantly, or something?"
I'd extend this to say that it's not just that people don't read what you write, they don't listen to what you say, or even watch what you do. As
drbitch once observed, humans write stories; it's what they do. But they often pay more attention to the story inside their head than anything that may be playing out before them.
"(P)eople really don't read what you write. They read some sort of virtual text constructed from your title, a few fragments of your text, and whatever preconceptions may be stimulated by them. It's sort of amazing watching people rant about your failure to consider things you explicitly addressed."
"Hey, what do you have against reactions that completely miss your point? You want us all to understand you and respond relevantly, or something?"
I'd extend this to say that it's not just that people don't read what you write, they don't listen to what you say, or even watch what you do. As
Re: i know what you mean...
Date: 2005-09-29 03:55 pm (UTC)That's priceless! I really laughed when I read that. :)
And your overall point? Very true. Close analysis of everything someone does, says, or writes is extremely tiring. I mean, it reminds me of a couple of the late stages of relationships that went sour, for me: "what does she mean by this word?" "why is she saying it that way?" "is she thinking of it this way or that way? Or maybe this other way?"
And if you're really lucky, they're doing the same kind of hamster-wheel thinking about you.
Man, that was horrible. I didn't have time for anything else.
Or I'll end up in class thinking that the narrator was a woman when on page thirteen he clearly refers to himself as Arthur.
Oops. :)
I keep hoping someone will turn around and say, "you know, that's just b.s."
There are people in my life whose company I treasure, not only for their willingness to tell me I'm full of it, but also because the same personality that permits them to call me on it makes them great people to be with.