Same ol’ shit. Same ol’ shit. Oh, Fremont, I fucking hate you. You’re the most haunted city for me…oppressive, suppressive…tiny little demons crawling inside and undermining everything. So we all have our patterns. Why? Is it self-perpetuating destruction? Or are our patterns the trials and error marking an intuition of what we are ultimately looking for? 99% of intimate relationships will fail in your lifetime. There’s an expiration date. Except for the one that takes you to death, the one that happens to not expire before you do. I would like to think that one enduring relationship you find in your lifetime makes all the other failures forgettable, the stepping stones that got you to what you were ultimately looking for. But how do those stepping stones feel? How do they feel knowing they’re considered mistakes in hindsight? Why is the human process so…so…merciless?
Last year my mom claimed that if I hadn’t ended my last relationship, she would have had to forcibly step in. Forcibly? That made me angry, even though it was a terribly detrimental relationship that needed to end. But I ended it. If mediocre players make excellent coaches, can you take advice from people who themselves are in bad relationships? When they tell you you make bad decisions, is it indicative of your overall ability to make decisions for yourself? Does it not improve with time and life experience, that learning curve? And what has the last year and a half been, but my way of coping with the terror of my own decision-making, to take life as it comes, a refusal to make any solid decision unless it slaps me in the face as being completely obvious and inevitable? I don’t trust anyone anymore, most of all myself. The only decision I trust myself to make is to not make any decisions until I have sufficient information, and you know what? That sounds like good sense but that’s bullshit. No, I don’t want to fall down anymore. I’m sick of scrapes and bruises on my ego and sensitivities, I’m sick of failure and disappointment, I’m sick of things that I hoped for the best turning out to be what I should have expected because I knew better. Because unlike other humans, I knew better. Bullshit. Tough titties, that’s life. Life is fucking hard. Life is unpredictable and you do what you can, and adapt where you must. If you were lookin’ for something else, you shouldn’t have chosen being human. Why do I like my life so private? Because succeed or fail, no one gets to judge what I do. I get to make my way and no one except those I trust get to see how I fall down, only that I stand up. No one gets to use any kind of lapse of judgment or human weakness to rush my personal borders and deem me unfit to run my own life in a coup. “You’re 30 now, and now’s the time you need to make smart decisions.” Really?? Because I’ve committed to making dumb decisions for the first half of my life? Decisions that happened to all revolve around putting the family first? How fucking dare you.