Life, Death, Neutrality, Dogs.

I’m not a writer. I just needed an activity I could take part in alone and drunk in a dark room. All people have their weaknesses, the comforting thoughts and actions that for better or worse become a temporal part of their analytical grieving process. As an attempt at growth, I’ve chosen to temporarily eschew my more instinctual, corporeal processes in favor of something more academic. So I write today.

Human life may simply be periods of grief and guilt and occasionally happiness with neutrality shoved between, like an overstuffed bookshelf. Some books are cover-less from years of reuse, others are textbooks covered in dust (because hardly anyone reads textbooks after class is over), others are gifts and still others are social buys which are only present as an homage to vanity and the wish to look a certain way to certain people. It’s unfair that dogma and social constructs fill in the neutrality with unrealistic expectation. This is a bit like proclaiming Catch-22 a classic after not being able to get all the way through and never intending to finish. All relationships with humans or dogs or inanimate objects end until one doesn’t. Even that ends in loss, however, so really all relationships end.

Death defines life and, despite best efforts, everyone dies. My parents will die. I love them. I LIKE them. Lots of people don’t have family they love and genuinely enjoy being around. I’m lucky this way (and I’m still an asshole). They’ve taught me or otherwise provided me the opportunity to learn every piece of information I know, and they are going to die one day. My only sister, one of the few people who at least pretends to understand who and why I am even if she doesn’t agree, might be continually disappointed by her students and children and get cancer and if she’s lucky will die before she gets too old to enjoy the rest of her life. And fuck my life. I’ll complain about terrible tsunamis and clear blue skies but perhaps never find another tornado equally matched. Even worse, I may not be a tornado at all but a sad, sad mist. I never want kids (because how could they turn out okay being raised in a culturally barren future-world by an angry, confused, feminist, anxious-as-fuck atheist?). I may never be calm or ridiculously talented or even be lucky enough to have a fleeting genius and I’m going to have to live with that. And then I’ll die.

All that might be true. The fact remains, however, that without horrifying inevitability, fleeting joy wouldn’t exist. Life would truly be neutral, and that would be the real tragedy.

I might get a dog. (I’ll call him Tom Selleck or Mustard Gas Dog. I like to think dog people are well-adjusted because for a few short years they have a companion who doesn’t judge and likes to cuddle.) I’ll deal with being the bad guy and learn from my mistakes. I’ll embrace the fact that I’m not nearly as charming or interesting as I’d like and stop dealing with my problems by finding other people with problems. I’ll make concessions to move on to something new.

I want to be a well-adjusted tornado so badly, but for now I’ll just deal and appreciate the truth that life averages out to neutral. Perhaps some unrealistic expectations exist simply as a reminder that lightness is an integral part of darkness.

Did I mention I’m not a fucking writer? Fuck.

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