There are those threshold moments during the day when you’ve just had enough of all the interruptions and want more than anything for people to stop entering the room for even good reasons,
where instead of yelling at someone to shut up and sit the hell down, you turn your back on them and slow your heart rate the hell down. And isn’t it always ironic that it’s that same space destroyer who’s always the first to tell you that you’re not looking at them is like a kind of cancer, and that you better cut it out.
I mean, it isn’t like they are telling you how happy they are that you give yourself some quiet time and space, but more like you walked into a fight between a fatherless son and a bitter mother about him sprinkling on the toilet seat, and she’s saying you’ve got to be kidding me with this look on her face that suggests there’s no money left in the bank account.
There was a time you could sarcastically say somebody kill me, and not worry about being admitted to a psychiatric unit,
when you could struggle to find the perfect words for communicating your emotions and not have someone finish your sentence for you, and do they even realize how incompetent they sound when they do that?
It’s like all this talk of pronouns and which one to use, when Jesus Chris, just pick one and fill in the rest with conversation and context, would you?
The way I see it, if there’s ever a shot at common sense again, it starts with somebody standing up in the middle of someone else’s lectern moment and telling us
it’s not about hearing what everyone has to say that makes us open and truly valuable, but about making sure everyone, and not just the privileged, have a forum for saying anything.
Have you ever noticed how it’s always the public speaker who’s telling us we have a voice and should be expressing it? Yeah, that’s a problem.
Almost as big a problem as the fact that there’s a somebody somewhere who keeps telling himself he’s better off not knowing what happens in other people’s homes,
while another somebody in one of those anonymous homes who doesn’t want to be talked to and who’s experiencing empathy burnout from helping people who can’t help themselves all day long, tells him or herself their child is behaving like a selfish little you know what for interrupting their sacred cup of coffee,
but instead of explaining that or even being able to, ends up yelling at the kitchen ceiling that everybody, including God, should shut up and leave them the you know what.