Tuesday, July 24, 2012

I'm bummed, go eat a bag of hammers.

       I'm probably going to delete the previous post, even though it's doubtful anyone will ever read it, or this for that matter.

         As soon as you're born you're expected to succeed, even if you're an infant who can't differentiate colours there is an incredible amount of pressure applied to accomplish goals that you probably haven't, and perhaps won't set in the first place. All parents want a successful, intellectual perfect child who doesn't wind up an alcoholic idiot who marries the guy who has the same traits; although evidently if you're a functioning alcoholic who can maintain a consistent flow of excellent Christmas gifts every year, that's fine too. Just pretend to look shocked when they wind up with liver cancer and play dumb by saying "they're just a casual drinker" and don't forget the open bar at the reception.
     There are some studies that have actually developed tests that can be given to children to give them an idea of the field they should pursue. This is what I call Ridiculous. The vast majority of people don't have a swift clue what they want to do in the future when they're grown, much less when they're like, seven. I wanted to be an icecream tester when I was 10. Luckily my parents pissed on every ambition I ever had, in turn I'm just a university educated-ish nobody that nobody cares about. Putting education on a pedestal is like bringing mom and dad home a stripper you met in Vegas and telling them she can "change"  after she takes the majority of yours - It sounds like a fantastic idea, but eventually you're going be robbed stupid and bitter at how naive you were.

    I wish people would get a cold shower of reality earlier in life, because that's the equivalent of how it feels initially; your chest tightens, muscles in your arms and legs tighten and you're woken up immediately to the cold reality and all the warm towels are in the washer soaked and you forgot to put them in the dryer this morning. There should be some kind of warning kids get while in the grades where they pass you because Gramma Jean wrote a pissed off letter in all capslock because she believes her grandchild is "raight good at Engmish" that their support systems in there lives are probably going to disappear off the planet quicker then you run when your fifteen year old girlfriend says she wants a baby.
   
      In closing, you are going to spend half your life trying to care about someone and the other half is going to be spent competing with someone on who can care the least.