Nonsense

got mixed feelings about the expectation of vulnerability. it’s this aspect of work i still have trouble with and mainly cause i’ve been thinking a lot about work lately. not the tasks but the projections.

the end game. with age you’ll start calculating things in a countdown of sorts and when i compare where i was with where i am and where i might like to be it feels like a vulnerability too difficult to face outright.

you can’t predict shit with surety – you can only proceed forward and only use caution when absolutely necessary. my appetite for high risk has significantly waned and as per usual i look from the outside as if i’m doing great.

but how’s my heart?

that’s the question they’re always asking and it gets under my skin cause i ain’t got the faith to believe my heart’s condition matters to anyone. all these conversations feel puppet-made and script-driven.

why would or should it matter to them? what’s the fucking end game to that question?

don’t mean i don’t think i’m worthy. definitely past that bullshit. just means i think the world is mostly ‘me’ driven and that most of these motherfuckers are riding a fucking bus. the only way out is to take the lead on transportation and help others get to where they need to go.

vulnerability?

feels like an emotional bus pass.

a space created for everyone to bitch about the same speed bumps, travel times and obnoxious passengers.

maybe i’m the one that smells and slurs words that no one can take seriously and maybe i won’t think like this tomorrow.