EPTBut most days shit happens. A guy honks because I'm doing 25 in a 30, I narrowly miss a green light. I forget my umbrella and it rains and these things, so nefarious in their insignificance, that they accumulate like swirling winds and burrow into my mind waiting for some eventual event to tilt me over the edge.
And inevitably it happens. Maybe my roommate doesn't wash her dishes for a week so I eat a few of her bananas. The evil builds up fueled by the inertia that I am the center of [my] world. My life, my dreams, my women, my needs, mine. Maybe I call up an ex who still kind of likes me to make me feel better even though I know I'm just using her even though I told myself every single time, I wouldn't - that I would be a better person - honorable. But it's hard when shit happens. The animal takes over. The beast breaks free of the chariot ruled by some sense of justified entitlement. Suddenly the game plan no longer has meaning. Fuck the game plan.
I wish I could get a gold star every time I was a golden person. God, are you watching? Every time I stand as the bigger man, could you deposit some extra karma into my spirit bank? Maybe give allowance the next time I'm an asshole because hey, why should everyone get to be an asshole but me? It's only fair.
On my best days, I just want to be alive. Enjoy a picnic with a girl I can laugh with, have kids with her - teach for the future and pave their path, and lead a simple life of simple joys.These are the days when I value everything, when the rain makes me feel fresh and the sun makes me feel joy.
Then there are the days when it's all about me - me in my solipsistic world - when I'm wearing my selfish hat. And I only value the things that I can control - when my cup floweth of negativity, when I am too good for everyone I'm better than, and too prideful for everyone I'm not.
So I write. Blog posts like these. Self-improvement notes. Idealized me. Idealistic me. Perfect paper me. I've probably written the same notes over the past couple years over and over. I write Don't repeat your mistakes, and then repeat them one more time. I write cliches and aphorisms, collect great quotes of love and harmony and internal beauty, and then worry my to-be wife will one day grow old and ugly.
It's hard.
