I don't like being here. I don't like these times. I despise the day-to-day lack of manners, the price increases that yield poorer service and worse goods. I find the growing ignorance terrifying; the dismissal within our society of the common good is a harbinger of even shoddier things to come. The overwhelming duplicity of people, places and things, the disregard for what is acceptable, charitable and candid makes me feel as if I have a rock in my shoe and destined to limp the rest of my days. It shocks me that there are no children playing ball on city playgrounds because it's forbidden--the community must protect itself against lawsuits; our litigious system has taken much of our freedom, our fears have taken the rest.
I am getting the feeling that being here is a cosmic error of infinitely small proportion. I don't understand how things work anymore, if I ever truly did. Love does not conquer all; honesty is at best a second-rate asset. My faith, my attempt to wrestle with Buddhism and have it make sense, has just been pinned to the mat. It may not be down for the count, but neither does it feel like fighting anymore. I am, in a word, defeated.
A friend says he looks at the obits with longing, that he hopes his nagging cough is actually something serious. He is not suicidal; he is fatalistic and in many ways I feel the same. There's no joy in Mudville.
It'll pass; most things do. But right now things are pretty crappy and there's no silver lining in sight, no pink cloud to climb upon. Chekhov once said, "Any idiot can face a crisis – it’s day to day living that wears you out." Yep. That's about right.
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