Thursday, September 02, 2004 · posted at 2:19 AM
Trust fall? Trust fails.

There are many different kinds of trust. There's the trust that your paycheck will come every other Friday and the trust your landlord has that he will receive half of that paycheck. There's a trust, or desperate hope, that you're the only significant one to your other. There's a trust that your family will always be there for you… and always annoy you.

So what do you do when you are wronged due to a violated trust? Go curl yourself up in the fetal position in the corner? Slap a fake smile on your face and pretend everything okay? Demand vengeance and an eye for an eye? Be an optimist and look for the silver lining? Pray for a threefold karmic backlash?

Or, the route that I have taken, blog about the issue of trust as a therapeutic means and an effort to guilt the guilty parties.

There’s a kind of shame that accompanies being hurt by trusting in the wrong person (or even wrong thing – I have many a time felt betrayed by volumizer that didn't volumize and networks that failed to recognize the genius of an Apatow series).

This is dictated by the very definition of trust (1. To have or place confidence in, depend on; 2. To expect with assurance, assume). Trust may be something that needs to be earned, but in the end it is still up to the truster to dole it out. This translates to feeling stupid after you've been burned because you should have known better.

By the way, I'd like to take issue with the fun, little slogan, "When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME." Really, that needs to be rewritten to, "When you assume, you make an ass out of you." Or let’s just drop that all together because I'm not a big fan of asinine sayings. The point? I am an ass.

I claim myself as a victim, but really – I brought it upon myself. I deserve the sleepless nights wondering about the "could haves," the "should haves," and the "what ifs." With each angry tear, I can curse Jon, the Hotel, and its endless stream of visitors… but in the end, Felicity Season 2, Disc 5 is gone and it's my fault.

I'd been mum to discuss it. Chalk it up to Stage 1 (denial), the intense fear of being disowned from the Bansheehood, or just the general shame of making a stupid decision. Why? Why didn't I just bring it home? Why did I feel the need to share the joy of Felicity with the masses (Selfish Bastards: 3, Good Samaritans: -50)?
While I admit I made some poor choices, I’m not ready to totally absolve all others. I mean there's losing something and then there's having something lost. The former is more similar to, you know, leaving your child at the babysitter and coming back to discover your child is no longer there. You are the gatekeeper, damnit!

So what do you do when you're the one who's broken the trust? You grovel like there is no other. You bake cookies and buy pretty shiny things. You offer up your Warcraft cd as an exchange for what happened. You put yourself in the position to be hurt as much as you hurt another*.

And then you pray like George Bush on election night that that DVD finds its way back into your hands and you into my good graces.

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