Things get tough, sort of like meat when it’s dried into jerky, or mathematics. The thing is, things get tough, and that’s just life, so there’s really no use in messing around with it or getting yourself into a fuss about it because that’s just sort of the way things go, and it’d be best for us to simply work our way around it.
But then come those times when you think you know which way to go, and it all seems to make sense that way, and you’re happy about it. But with the way people talk and the way things seem to go, it’s as if all your happiness is a silly little way to look at things, and so they suggest themselves as more mature than you, more worldly wise, which is why they can take all the crap given to us by the world and just sit with it, or something, and just take it like it is and deal with it. As if you weren’t dealing with it too.
Because you can certainly deal with it all too. You know what pain is like. You see what people are like. And with a careful level of inclusion and detachment, at the most delicate and calculated moments, a person might be able to really figure some things out about sadness, or happiness, and a lot of the weird little sub-categories and associated rhythms of those kinds of things.
It doesn’t matter though. It turns into a tough game, no matter of your determination, your skill, your inherent and persistent understanding of happiness, of trying to keep your head up in a world of miserable, lifeless faces. It’s those opponents on the other side that make your offense into defense by talking mindlessly about others, turning teammates against one another, getting angry at the inconveniences, concerning themselves with the perceptions of society, thinking so very little about the bigger picture, about how clouds float, or whether or not there is any more to life than accomplishing a set list of tasks and receiving the ever-available pat on the back by the whole world watching.
The real tough bit is the part when you start to think it’s not so bad. It’s notsobad. But there’s hardly enough time for a shrug of the shoulders before you turn around to look at where you were and where you’ve come to and now you’re looking real sad because there’s not much of a difference between you and everyone else now.
People don’t look so much like people now but like idiots. It doesn’t matter if they have a family or a life, you just want them out of your way, you want their money, you want their admiration, but you want them to go away and to stop bothering you, you want them to shut up, just tell them to shut up, just talk about them behind their back to get out your little bout of anger, but it turns out that anger isn’t a little “thing” so much as it is a constant state of being.
Truth is, you can’t remember when it all started, and you wish you could go back but you know that’s not how life works. It’s tough trying to get the whole world to be happy like you and to have it make you sad like the rest of it. It’s tough going along with it for a while until suddenly realizing you really wish you could go back now to when you were happy. It’s also tough remembering the kind of person you are in being that kind who likes to move forward onto things because it turns out you can’t sit still for too long a time.
Speaking of which, the whole thing actually kind of freaks you out because you wish you had any idea how all of this would come about when you were younger. You wish you could have warned yourself that people are going to make things tough, but just keep on thinking how you do, OK? It just sort of seems like you’re all different people now, you and your past selves. What are you supposed to do about the future ones?
Well, just do what you've always done, I guess.