Sometimes I feel like Kim Jong Il from that movie “Team America, World Police”, roaming alone around my head wondering why everybody is so fucking stupid. I never find a viable answer to satisfy the question. Not everybody is so fucking stupid I suppose, just everybody I know. That’s not entirely true, I know a handful with enough brain cells to bounce together and make a thought worth sharing. But I have known thousands of people, so what does that say about me? And what must I do to get to a place where there are better chances of meeting smart people?
Since I began learning how to think I've realized that my standards for the people I used to know are far too high. And no matter how groovy somebody from my old consciousness seems at first, as soon as they get comfortable enough to expose their shortcomings, they do. I find it horribly off-putting. Keep your problems to yourself please, I have no interest in knowing you well enough to shoulder any burdens you want to unload on me. And really, I don’t care. At this rate we won’t know each other long enough for me to ever care, your flaws will scare me off long before I develop any attachment. And I know I’m not broken so it’s definitely you.
I guess I must have always been a writer because apparently this kind of honesty comes off as offensive or arrogant to most. Writers have a reputation for being cunts because many of them refuse to put up with shit for the sake of avoiding discomfort. Is it fair to label someone in a negative way because they won’t tiptoe around issues that others are too weak or lazy to overcome? Far from it. And personally, I just don’t have the time or inclination to put up with other people’s avoidable bullshit. Thanks me, for valuing myself enough to put me first. Tied for first at any rate. How else will I ever become someone worthy of doing great things in this life?
And then there are those that, for some mysterious reason, a person is just supposed to love and suffer no matter what. Like family or old friends. Why? If I don’t like somebody or the things they do make my life worse, where is the contract stating that I’m obligated to stick around. Nowhere, NO...WHEH, that’s where. Maybe my moral compass is broken. Praise be to whoever made it that way. I lucked out.
I owe it myself, and those people in my life worth knowing, not to hang around watching idiots repeatedly create their own suffering and then reach out for a hand up as their ship goes down. I will throw a lifeline once or twice in extreme circumstances, and then you’re on your own. Say hi to Davey Jones for me.
The last big test before evolving to the next level of life is cutting the thickest strings that hold me and my life-partner back. Her, armed with a pair of dull nail-clippers, guilt and bottomless pity. Me, armed with a razor-sharp broadsword as I strain against the tethers of a dying sense of obligation and the love I have for my partner. Neither of which will hold me back much longer. For the good of us both, cut the last anchor away and sail across the sea to a new life. Pay nothing extra for the hindrance of bringing unnecessary baggage along with us on the voyage. This benefit is a by-product of learning how to let go.
Goodbye forgettable fools of yesterday. I may wave goodbye from over the railing but you’ll be forgotten the moment I turn away to welcome tomorrow.