Cryptic, Dubious, Opaque, Tenebrous...
There are important things that I want to talk about – but not here, because it never seems like the right place to voice them. Too many people say “I’m sorry,” and it always manages to come out “I pity you.” Too many people try to fix it, as if to say their experiences and duct tape were interchangeable. Too many people give me statistics that are supposed to make me feel better – how does one feel better through high percentages? Too many people give me their perspective, because mine doesn’t seem fitting because “it’s too sensitive.” As if caring too much were criminal or least yet, vulgar.
So we’re left with all the unimportant things to tend to, because there is still a sense of privacy. So we’re here to talk about politics and pop culture, unsung ambition, criticisms that we’d never have the audacity to say in person, that fuck of last week that wronged us, and finally, bohemian interpretation of some daily observation fused with pseudo-eccentric commentary that make us all sound deeper, more soulful, more intelligent than we actually are – but here I am, not doing anything different that breaks that mold.
Venting, because most of my friends are either attached to my liquor, my sense of humor, or my work – when they see this side of me, they look around wondering when the person they thought they knew would be coming back into the room.
"Because in the end, you have always forgiven me. Not because you’re weak spirited or non-confrontational, but because you knew it wasn’t me saying those words – it was my frustration. You’re pragmatic like that, understanding that there are always more important matters than pride to invest our energy and time towards."
So we’re left with all the unimportant things to tend to, because there is still a sense of privacy. So we’re here to talk about politics and pop culture, unsung ambition, criticisms that we’d never have the audacity to say in person, that fuck of last week that wronged us, and finally, bohemian interpretation of some daily observation fused with pseudo-eccentric commentary that make us all sound deeper, more soulful, more intelligent than we actually are – but here I am, not doing anything different that breaks that mold.
Venting, because most of my friends are either attached to my liquor, my sense of humor, or my work – when they see this side of me, they look around wondering when the person they thought they knew would be coming back into the room.
"Because in the end, you have always forgiven me. Not because you’re weak spirited or non-confrontational, but because you knew it wasn’t me saying those words – it was my frustration. You’re pragmatic like that, understanding that there are always more important matters than pride to invest our energy and time towards."
This entry was posted
on Sunday, February 26 at 9:20 PM.
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4:44 AMT.O.M.,
No need to worry – I just needed to vent and sound all self-righteous. I don’t like venting, it takes too much faith that someone on the other side actually gives a shit, and on that same token – it’s too much responsibility to put on a person to remedy the situation. My friend KN and I decided that life is just a series of bad weeks that we’re trying to forget, all tied together with small joys thrown in from time to time that interrupt the cadence. I’ll survive, but thanks.
7:14 AM
ok don't beat me up but feel better soon :-]
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