My filter generally operates at 60% capacity. Lots of damning words (4 out of every 10) fall from these lips -- likewise, from these finger tips. The success of my filter depends on many factors. These factors include: sleep deprivation, hunger, temperature, caffeination, and inebriation. Sometimes my filter fails me out of spite, sometimes indifference, but environmental factors play the largest role.
It's hard to think of specific instances when my filter has failed me, yet I (heh, yet I makes yeti) can always remember how I felt after -- unclean, ashamed, woefully mistrustful of my social skills.
One of the earliest Filter Incidents occured at my sister's birthday party. A friend of my sister (for whom I did not care) presented my sister with a purse. I wasn't particularly filter-full when I said, "Yeah Mary Bell, that's great. And you know how I know it's great? She's got one already." I wish I could say I learned my lesson and never did it again. But then I'd be lying.
I vividly remember a large portion of my childhood, hours after one of these Filter Incidents, sitting at my desk and twitching. I'd be replaying the incident in my mind, my filter having turned on me. It'd scream, "This is what you should have said! Everybody hates you! Hide your shame!" And I'd rock back and forth in my chair, thinking dangerous thoughts.
Now that I'm older and wiser, I'm much better at ignoring my filter. I still shoot my mouth off and feel the old shame, only now I've got the gift of rationalization. Whenever I say something stupid, I can almost make myself believe that what I've said is the best of all possible things that could have been said. I'm brilliant and gorgeous and well-equipped to fight the filter demon. And if rational thought fails, well, there's always alcohol.
I love being a grownup.
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