Thoughts on my life.

I now realize that I am a poor reader of people. Perhaps I read books too much as a child, and missed those informal social lessons. My family was a poor source of lessons. Invariably, the veneer was not the substance of the emotions. In most situations, what I thought was going on, wasn't really what was happening. The lies, the fakes, the alliances, the backstabbings. In contrast, my present life is (thankfully) quite boring.

In many ways I wander through life clueless as to what others are thinking and feeling. I'll catch the obvious, a co-worker crying; but miss the subtle, someone upset with something I've said. As a result, I appear to be a bull in a china shop. I comment, don't read the reactions, and continue to comment, when I should shut up.