I haven’t written anything for a while, mostly because twitter has been sapping all of my creative energy and expending it on insomniacs who care for only as long as their mouse reaches the retweet button then you’re launched into oblivion, along with any point you’ve been trying to make, and in part because of my work schedule. Not that anybody really cares, I’m pretty sure most page views never really sink in far enough into any reader’s subconscious for it to make a change. It’s not like people go through blogs to make up for their lost revelations. Writing is there for catharsis, because the obscurity of phrasing still qualifies as therapeutic against the obscurity of a bundle of unexpressed emotions or dismissed thoughts. What am I saying? It doesn’t matter.
Disappointments are an odd craft. And I say craft because they’re never inborn, but tended to. You breed your hope, and put energy into rearing it just so you could smash it at the expense of someone else’s shortcomings, if not your own. Problem is, smashing your own is a lot messier for your janitor to clean up after, it’s a frigging fraternity initiation ceremony of the alpha, beta and kappa cross continent conference union next to the former’s ugly betty hen party.
It could be argued that disappointments are god’s way of jumpstarting your battery, or that it’s evolution’s way of slapping your ego back into our dimension. Though contradictory in the postulated purposes, they have the same effect in the bigger picture; crashing your page so you’d use the refresh button, because after all, we all know it’s impossible for you to even consider that with so many tabs on if not absolutely forced into it, it’ll undoubtedly stump your connection.
Some people handle disappointments better than others, some feel psychologically obliged to switch ISP’s altogether. You can’t help that, you can only hope to sometime learn not to place someone else’s expectations before your own well-being, no matter how important that person may be, because even though you may not currently realize it, but you may have been hiring a nanny for your own only to bathe in the glory of someone else’s falsely high expectations of you since you don’t really have to work to prove or moot those. The fact that someone is enough of an impressionist to think that you’re something more or less than you are doesn’t mean you should believe it. I’m not saying it’s not fun, but it won’t do you any good if not actually add in harm on the long-term. So? They’re disappointed. Fuck em. You’ll never be back as you were, good riddance. Are YOU disappointed? Now that matters, because you can’t afford to wait till you’re ‘back as you were’ with yourself. Unless you had Voldemort’s powers of soul partitioning. I daresay not even then, because his soul was not whole enough to counter the expelliarmus spell of an undergraduate with the the charm knowledge of a 10th year, and you can’t possibly think it’s a good long term plan for your soul to be wedged, let alone dislodged, by another’s disarming spell.
Or you can give up on expectations altogether, live your life with no disappointments. Might as well hire a basement and invest in a yearly subscription of Cheetos, playboy and a faster internet connection. Oh and while you’re at it, tell your friends to go easy on the pepperoni, because trust me, the only social life you’ll be getting will be with the pizza delivery man and e-bay shipping staff. Don’t worry about your career either, I’m sure the 2o cent per article rate will go up once you’ve sent 50+ years on Helium.
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