Common Denominators

I could really hate it all if I wanted to.
And sometimes when I look at what’s happened, the trends of everything, I start to really want to hate it all. Sometimes that servile emotion—pity—starts to flutter its wings at me and look nice like the apple in Eden. It looks good, and sometimes I hear the little whispers slide out from behind the curtain of my unconscious and play like Shakespeare right before my eyes and I am tempted beyond temptation to play along with them. Because sometimes, I just want to feel bad about my life’s trajectory. Sometimes I lean into it and I become woe.

But every time I do, it never tastes as good as it looks. It’s moldy and I don’t want my own pity, nor the pity of another. I’m grown and too capable of being sorted, of seeing through the veil of misery to the part where I understand that I’m the common denominator. My outlook is. My choices are.

But it’s a good day, thinking about all this from the outside with a little twinkle in my eye.