Don’t Project on Me
This is a famous flag from the American Revolution. According to Wikipedia, it’s called the Gadsden flag.
I plan to adapt it for my own: Don’t Project on Me. Call it the Colando flag. Ours will be aqua blue-green.
Perhaps I should tat it upon my sleeve, right above the heart that I wear.
Moving forward, with the theme of this blog post, here’s what Wikipedia states about Projection:
Psychological projection, also known as blame shifting, is a theory in psychology in which humans defend themselves against their own unpleasant impulses by denying their existence while attributing them to others. For example, a person who is rude may constantly accuse other people of being rude.
- As well as people who judge, then toss this quality like a blanket to snuff out your light.
- As well as people who wish to snip your talents in the bud, chop you down to their size, small in spirit, stature, and mind:
Prideful people project bombastically, specifically, deridingly – dishing out ghastly crap. It’s happened to me throughout life. I’m that Tall Poppy you know. Years of parrying snivelly-snide bullying attempts to plunder my self, ante getting higher with each heart-stake.
I try to thwart, withstand, and understand, and then I walk away. I beseech, I checkmate, I pray.
Here’s more Wikipedia for you:
Bullying: A bully may project his/her own feelings of vulnerability onto the target(s) of the bullying activity. Despite the fact that a bully’s typically denigrating activities are aimed at the bully’s targets, the true source of such negativity is ultimately almost always found in the bully’s own sense of personal insecurity and/or vulnerability. Such aggressive projections of displaced negative emotions can occur anywhere from the micro-level of interpersonal relationships, all the way up through to the macro-level of international politics, or even international armed conflict.
Even purported reverents, in my experience. People who should embody godliness and Christian charity can offer up the opposite; bellicose mega-doses aimed at battering someone’s existence. Especially those men, so help me, God. A wolf bedeviling His sheep.
To quote Larry, the defender of my life, “PJ doesn’t play”:
PJ does play:
Possessing a spontaneous, cheeky attitude, she/me is ardent and undeniably out-going. She/me doesn’t take herself seriously. Laugh, people!
Start you own project rather than pissing on hers/mine. Fervently have fun. Be too busy moving forward to wallow in unearned importance and pride.
There is no need: she/me/we are enough. There’s loads of wonder in this world! Share, Twist, and Shout!
World travel has absolutely validated that she is a Scot. Found her people in Scotland and in Australia, where many Scots migrated, either by choice or force (Australia was populated by England as a penal colony, as America had been before its revolution).
PJ’s also a little Irish…and don’t squelch the possibility of Welsh. Larry, of course, is Italian. With a sprinkle of German, like me. American mutts we are.
Today is our 40th anniversary.
We’ve got our own flag. And we’ve planted it high on a hill.
Bottom line, bah-dah-bing: being a bully who projects his nastiest habits and perversity won’t work on me, who abides in the One who is bigger than bad.
Go to hell, mister/blast her/sister. Shut up and play dead.