Rubber band – Gumband.
Sub – Hoagie.
Facial Tissue – Kleenex.
Soda – Pop
These are different words for the same item. We interchange monikers depending on various conditions. These could vary by region, commercial impact, or nurture.
As we grow accustomed to these words and their symbolism, they become part of us and our everyday lives. And in a matter of time, we end up referring to an item that, by conditioning, we have slightly altered its meaning to fit our purposes.
“I have way too much on my plate today.” actually means I just feel like staying in and eating alone and not dealing with anyone.
“We’re going for a walk.” in the context of a holiday family meeting actually means smoking a cigar with your fellow male relations and bullshiting about nothing of consequence.
“I just can’t wait to get out of work and relax.” actually means, please give me a shot as soon as possible so I may obliterate this day.
Call a workout a tryst.
Call a shopping excursion a therapy session.
Call a coffee break an excuse to smoke.
Call a donut a healthy snack because it had jelly filling.
Call yourself happy because you don’t seem to be suffering.
But can you look at what you do and admit that its genuine? Do you deliver on all of your promises?
Can I call this a blog?
What exactly does that mean anyway?
I don’t ever attempt to allow myself to be socially defined.
So I will own it and define this incessant horse shit for what it is.
This is essentially a diary that I pay a pile of money to post to, and unload on the world. I say world, though I know the readership is limited, and therefore, essentially, is a handful of people.
So, I’m calling it as it is. This is narcissistic drivel. If you enjoy it, than you are also a narcissist, you just don’t choose to pay for it as I do. Alternatively, enjoying my defeatism may be more of a masochistic trigger.
Whichever you fall into, or not at all, you’ve defined this in some way that conforms to your nurture, nature, or mangled perceptions.
I bid you good nightmares.
J