don’t you hate when you’re feeling like you’ve had a bad week/day, and then you look back at all the stuff you did and notice that nothing bad(or even less than good) actually happened, and it’s all because you’re just being a big baby complaining about your lack of human connection and meaning and purpose, when you clearly can have all the connection and purpose you want? and that you’re probably just being a dick by continuing to go on and on about it like your problems are something important, when you can’t even figure out what your problems are, and everyone else in the world actually has real ones? don’t you feel like an ass for complaining about your lot in life as a well-adjusted white american male with a secure job and loved ones and intellect, while people in other parts of the world actually have to worry about getting limbs amputated or maybe dying of starvation/war/disease the next day? aren’t you disappointed when you realize you’ve been blessed from birth with everything you could ever need and are still unable to manifest any form of contentment? and don’t you feel guilty for even feeling that disappointment in the first place, as if you had anything real to be disappointed about? do you ever find yourself almost wishing to be faced with a devastating, life-altering situation so that you can then have something actually real to concern yourself with, and maybe then the truth of your character can finally be released into the world without trepidation, because it will be the only thing you have left? isn’t that all you really have anyway, and the rest is just filler to maintain the ant-hill of malcontent you’ve spent your life building?
yeah. me too.