In your twenties, you can attribute much of the deviation to noise. However, as the cruel mistress of time marches forward, a common denominator emerges: your dumb ass.
And to my chagrin, it turns out that the Clue murder mystery is solved. It was me with the unresolved trauma in the studio apartment.
I heard somewhere there is a moment when the man you might have been must face the man you’ve become. And that moment is now-ish. The results are shockingly underwhelming. Survey says: more than a villain and less than a monster.
Who’s betting on a late-night comeback? A ninth inning rally. Another tired sports metaphor.
I got a real job. I wake up early and pay my bills. I save 15% for retirement and care for neighborhood cats. I check in on my friends, and wash behind my ears. And yet, there is an immutable truth that anchors my neck. I am mediocre trash.
Before the sympathetic among you chime in, it’s important to look in the mirror in unflattering lighting. That cruel Platonic truth only provided by overhead florescent can lighting.
I’m kinda a piece of shit. The Sartreian intellectual in me backpedals and corrects me: I have been a piece of shit. I am a for-itself and only been a piece of shit in the mode of not quite being a piece of shit. The kind of piece of shit who’s being is in question for it.
Ball don’t lie. Scoreboard. Check the graphs. This VLookup spitting facts.
At this point, I usually pivot to some shit about Rocky II and using the eye of the tiger to overcome. To rise above and be better. But I ain’t at that point yet. At the moment, I’m wrestling with the data. Looking at the ROI on these KPIs and trying to reconcile these two shitty Q2 (centuries) of poor performance. But that a tomorrow Nick problem. Today is about looking at the red on the spreadsheet. Understanding how we got here. How our poor decisions led us here. Accepting responsibility for the selfish, destructive, hurtful evil I’ve done.
This don’t make up for it. This doesn’t correct anything. But it is a first step. It’s a pen to paper. Awww shit. I caught myself trying to write myself out of this one. Trying to have a righteous philosophical upshot which give a ray of hope on to this bleak evening of self reflection.
Not today, Fuckface.
Today you get your nose rubbed in it like a dog who peed on the carpet. Breathe deep and fuck off.
No comments :
Post a Comment