Oh Stop, You're Making Me Blush!

I can't take a compliment.

Or a present.

Or a kind gesture.

I don't know what it is but for as long as I can remember I have never wanted to accept something that I didn't think I could justify receiving. And it's not as if this was some deep seated psychological issue stemming from a poor upbringing. I had a very pleasant upbringing actually.
And in actual fact it's usually my dad trying to give me stuff that I feel I can't accept. Every so often Jim would hand me a tenner and say it was for petrol for the car (which he had filled the day before) or for cutting the grass (a chore that I did for free) or even because I was young and needed money (I've never in my life been flat broke. I'm very good at saving).

Birthdays and Christmas are an awkward time for me. I mean I love the events and I love having stuff that people give me and people having things that I give them. But the whole process of giving and receiving that old yuletide tradition makes me squirm so violently I rip a whole in the space time continuum and see the untold trillions of other James's in parallel universes who all coincidentally hate the giving and receiving thing.

Now the Multiverse Theory stipulates that there must be a version of me out there that actually revels in the process. But I looked. He doesn't exist.

I love being a universal anomaly. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my belly.

Honestly, my ideal situation is where we lay presents down in an empty room, like a saucer of milk for a stray cat, and open the presents in solitude so we can have our true reactions and practise the ones that make the gift giver feel the best. Okay, yes, that sounds really weird and a touch socially awkward but hey, I'M weird and a touch socially awkward. So it's all good.

As for the compliments thing I'll tell you this. Whenever I get bored or I get a really good idea I start to write a book. I've never finished one and the passion fades quickly but I've written the starting two chapters to 3 different books, only two of which I would ever consider carrying on. So eventually I let some of my friends read these chapters and I got a really good response. Sure, they could have been faking it to protect my feelings and that was good of them. But when they came to me and told me they thought it was really good, I got all shy and looked at the floor and shrugged saying "awwwww it's okay I suppose".

Then I would proceed to point out all that was shit in it. Because no one criticises my works quite like myself.

One day I'd really like to finish those books, even if I just convert them into short stories. Hell maybe someday I'll put them up here. But that's for another day.