I've been (officially) redpill now for several months, and practically every week something new shows up from within me, something that's always been inside me but kept locked up, bound and ball-gagged in a lovely blue cage. It's always a pleasant surprise when the real me comes out. It feels so good.

I don't have an exciting Field Report to share, just an anecdote about two overlapping conversations I had with a couple of people after mass this morning in the church basement.

I don't know what it is about me, but for some reason I give off some kind of vibe that screams, "come talk to me, I'm approachable". Well today was no exception. One of the resident mentally retarded parishioners - every church has at least one, we must have something like thirty of them, of all ages and sizes - came up to me while I was negotiating a Bavarian creme donut into my mouth without plastering my chest-length beard in custard.

Well "Algernon", 40 years old give/take, two hearing aids, eyeglasses thick enough to set solid steel on fire in strong sunlight, scapular poking out from under the collar of his shirt, local professional sports franchise jacket that probably hasn't been washed since we won the pennant, wanted to tell me all about the place where he works, and how two of his co-workers are lazy and take extra-long breaks even though the super said that was against the rules.

My sainted mother, an auburn-haired Irish spitfire, God rest her soul, used to describe such people as "touched in the head" - and when she would say that, she would tap her temple with the tip of her ring finger. She used to say God set them apart for a special mission in the bigger picture, whether it was to teach us a lesson about what's really important in life, or maybe to preserve them sinless - she said mentally retarded people don't sin, how can they? - for an important job in the next life, fighting demons that tempt children to misbehave, or interceding for sinners, Protestants, and Democrats, who have no one to pray for them.

So I listened patiently to Algernon's story. Even a year ago, I would have listened with sincerity, because people like him get head-of-the-line privileges on the Day of Judgment, but the redpillism in me kicked in at one point, and I amusedly - not insultingly, mind you - shook his hand, told him it was a pleasure meeting him, and hoped he would take the hint and buzz off.

He didn't. So I took it up a notch, as he asked/told me a new joke he learned. I couldn't understand about two thirds of it, and only knew he had reached the punch line when he momentarily stopped talking, so I laughed pro-forma and as he started in on oh-oh-this-other-joke I cut him off and literally told him to go away because I want to read the church bulletin.

Written out like this, I know it sounds harsh, but I assure you it was executed with flawless amused mastery.

A year ago I would not have been able to take control of the situation and stand up for myself the way I did. I would have instinctively downshifted into everybody's-bitch mode and let this guy - innocent as he is, he did nothing "wrong" - walk all over me. I stood up for myself in a way I never imagined possible. I attribute it to absorbing an inner redpill mentality that has allowed me to grow faster on the inside than I have ever grown in such a short period of time, since maybe when I was a fetus.

Now while Algernon was talking my ear off, up walked some lady who spends her free time in her retirement years painting religious icons. She was handing out business cards and explanatory notices about her work, letting us know she will be bringing in some of her work next week.

Here is how the conversation went:

She: Hi, excuse me, I'm "Doris", I make icons, and I just wanted to give you guys my card and mention I'll be bringing in samples of my work next week? [Not a question, but rising intonation?]

I: Hi.

She: Hi, Doris, and your name?

I: Kempff.

She: [Visibly shaken by my almost-brusque demeanor] Kempff.

[Awkward silence]

She: So, are you new here?

I: No.

She: [awkward silence and tense half-giggle] Um, Old? [That is, are you a long-time parishioner here that for some reason I haven't met yet?]

I: Yes. Since St Agnes. [Our parish community used to meet at St Agnes years ago before we took over another closed parish in the city, which is now our current location.]

She: Um, okay ... well ... here are my cards, and I hope to see you next week, and ... okay?

I: okay.

A year ago, I would have played the good little boy, the nice young man, the deferential beta bitch who cared more for how I made people feel, than for the gritty real content of a conversation. I wasn't rude or standoffish toward her; rather I reminded myself she was talking to a man, and I'm going to act like a man, because I am a man.

I'm not a good little boy anymore. I'm not good, I'm not little, and I'm not a boy. I'm a big, hairy, stinky, fully-bearded bull of a man now, much to momma's horror, God rest her soul, and people approach and talk to me by my permission.

I wasted four decades of my life kowtowing to everyone else as if I had no value or worth as a human being. When I came to redpill, it was like popping a dislocated shoulder back into its socket. All the common sense I knew in my head but was too bluepill to act upon, all of a sudden became real, as opposed to theoretical.

And interacting with you guys, virtual though it may be, has reassured me that yes, this is the way to be, and to live.

EDIT: Dan autocorrect, duck this shot