Shit I Can't Talk About...

Having shit I can't talk about sucks. Especially when the subject matter I can't talk about sucks. It all sucks, and not in a pleasant way at all. More in an industrial vaccuum way that pulls on and brutalizes the mind and heart as it strives to suck you into a tiny singularity.

Several more hours till I get my part in the suck over with. Then who knows how long till I discover what it all boils down to.

Damn, my keyboard needs cleaning.

So does my uniform.

And my mind.

When Being An Adult Can Really Suck

I get to see a lot of people behave badly. I see a few people behave well. I see most just trying to get through their day to day without doing themselves or any other harm.

Friction arises when someone's behavior is illustrated as sub-standard: When the children in the courtroom behave more appropriately than the adults. Like when the madman sits, sweat popping out on his forehead from his struggle to control himself and the supposed regular Jane sputters on about how persecuted she was when stopped because her registration was three months out of date...

Most everyone has their personal excuses for whatever it is they've done.

And, as Carlin said, "Your stuff is shit to everyone else."

It's hard, to be a true adult and own all of your shit. Many of us are knock-off Captain Queegs; screwing up, refusing to accept responsibilty, putting it off on our subordinates, and playing with our balls to render ourselves more comfortable with our shortcomings.

And yet we have, on the whole, less reason to act like that paragon of paranoia.

It is even harder to own the shit of our offspring. Being a parent and not making excuses for either our children or our parenting can be the moment when being an adult can truly suck. Many don't bother to even try. I do, but it's hard.

I fear our culture is predisposed to making an armada of little Queegs...