December 9th pt. III

As I attempt to re-watch “Home the Smithers” on a scratched library DVD, I won’t defend nostalgia. I know living in the past is a form of soft suicide, but Chuck by Sum 41 still rocks and there are worse ways to go out than rotting my brain on a third viewing of the Irishman while briefly forgetting that going about my business during a pandemic is “the new normal” and not even attempting to tackle the plethora of Pandora’s boxes we’re opening with no regard for the consequences.

I’ve never checked with a doctor if my brain is wired wrong, but nearly everyone else seems to be living their life wrong. I am not delusional enough to believe I am living my life correctly, but of the two different kinds of “wrong” lives we lead, everyone else’s seems agonizingly unpleasant. I watch and wait for the rug to be pulled from out underneath them and can’t help but feel that it is going to hurt so much worse for them when everything crumbles. I’ve been mentally preparing at least.

There’s a misconception that my worldview is one of apathy, but I care more than nearly everyone I know. I really care. And the thing about really caring is that this country breaks you early. All the true believers whose only real belief is that they are the true believers will grow to an age where the idea of realizing they’ve been hoodwinked would be too painful so they’ll go all in on the most uninspiring something something… I’m going to sleep. I think this one got too self-righteous. I just had that first phrase that I had in my head that I wanted to write something with.