This is scarily accurate for me, and the pathetic truth of it all is that it isn’t even limited to books. No, I’m not joking. I have the absolute hardest time watching a romantic comedy or reading a scene in which a character makes a particularly painful flub that gets everyone staring at them with the ”What on earth did you just do?” look painted all across they’re faces. I would rather be inches away from developing a real-life case of arrhythmia having the bejeezus scared out of me by some scary plot twist than be tortured for five minutes by that ridiculously awkward ”Oh, no! She’s not… She didn’t! NO. WHY DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?!” feeling that’s brought on when the character I’ve grown to identify/sympathize with puts his or her metaphorical foot in it.
I can’t help it. I squirm, I writhe, I tuck myself into the fetal position and do my best “I’m being inexorably sucked into the dark vacuum that is the floor” impression. And at the time, I sincerely hope it works, I really do. Far better to escape into mindless oblivion for all eternity than have to share in all that AGONIZING humiliation the authors decide to shamelessly saturate their pages with on occasion.
The good news is that when this happens, it’s usually the mark of a skilled writer/director/actor when their words/scenes reduce me to a misshapen puddle of goo. The bad news? I still feel like a freaking misshapen puddle of freaking goo, dammit.
Yeah, when I was four I was accused of being too sensitive by my playground teacher. My parents said that wasn’t at all true and that I was just extremely empathetic. Either way, I’m screwed.
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