I'm trying to learn the rules...

...or, at a minimum, accept them, though I think they have a distinct aroma of decaying fish to them.

The editor who zinged me with a bunch of questions about an old story today -- "old," because it was finished in November, and all the research material has long since been stashed -- sent back a mildly offended reply to my comment about making me feel, well, like a rookie writer. I was reminded that it's the editor's job to bring up points that occur to him or her, no matter how I rated them.

I don't disagree with that. Not exactly, anyway.

Already, two days into the year, I am finding that my determination -- not resolution -- to be out-front with people about what I think is evaporating.

It has long seemed to me that when I express certain feelings/emotions/ideas, I am somehow venturing into territory forbidden to me, but not to others. They are more than free to lay down emotions of the I think, I feel, I am owed, I need, I love or I want varieties to me, and expect me to respect/fulfill/sympathize with their wishes, but there is some unwritten law mandating that I should refrain from same, lest I be considered a whiner/pest/creep/antisocial sonofabitch/or plain old loser.

PARENTHETICAL YOU-HEARD-IT-HERE-FIRST NOTE: You may have long since been bored to tears (or worse) by much of my venting here. This is my place to do it, fellow babies, for which I pay nothing at all, but at least I try to leaven the unrelenting misery with occasional fun pictures....

The exchange with this editor is not the sole example to intrude on my head in very recent times, either.

I am bothered most by the fear that any self-expression on my part is somehow wrong, that by expressing desires I am somehow trampling on the freedom of others. Somehow, I doubt I am doing so; my intentions, however poorly presented, are good. Honest, even.

And people trample on my ass, too. But since they do it for their own reasons, it's somehow okay.

To hell with it.

Some things never change. I guess this is one of them.

I'm disappointed and angry today. But I refuse to be more specific than I have been so far.

I'm more than tired of putting my fat butt on the line, always with an unsatisfactory result.

The next person who chooses to intrude on my space or take advantage of my good, loving and helpful nature damn well better be able to tell me what's in it for me if I let them do so.

PARENTHETICAL TO-END-THIS-RANT-THE-RIGHT-WAY NOTE: If you think I'm talking about you, I'm probably not....