What a week I’ve had, darlings.
The less said, the better, methinks. Your favourite dilettante shot her mouth off in public, and a couple of people took it very personally (even though it was never intended to be personal).
Some people don’t like to be thought of as sheep, but they are. They go along to get along, and they run with the pack, perhaps not always to their own destruction, but certainly not toward anything different or exciting.
You ever notice how all sheep look the same and sound the same? I lamented (admittedly very loudly) how homogeneous the blogging world was, and yet how people are drawn to that homogeneity, and don’t understand or don’t know what to do with something different.
There were a couple of really loud baaaaaas of protest, and I fear that as these couple of baaaaaas ran away, shunning your favourite dilettante, that they likely led their friends away with them.
Because that’s what sheep do.
What a horrible, rude, metaphor, Helena.
Don’t forget obvious, darling — yes, I know. This picture practically screams out this metaphor, and I admit, I’m taking the path of least resistance this week (and does that make me a sheep?) but it just seemed horribly timely that this photo would show up after the week I’ve had — a week that has caused me to all but withdraw from the internet, because I don’t know where I’m welcome anymore.
That car driving away is making a choice — but it’s a lonely choice, going against the crowd. You get accused of biting the hand that feeds you, or being unnecessarily cruel, or being self-righteous or being a hater — when really what you are doing is just demanding more from yourself, and hoping that people would demand more from themselves, too. I have a friend who I haven’t seen for a while — he used to write on here sometimes — and he taught me a new word — weltschmerz. It’s a German word that means the feeling of not belonging in this world — the depression and malaise caused by the alienation one feels from the world. I feel increasingly alienated from the society we live in — I don’t understand it, and I don’t understand its values.
So I rail against them, and people accuse me of putting myself on a pedestal and kicking out at my equals.
It would seem that I would do much better in life to either strap a piece of duct tape across my mouth or just learn how to baaaaaa.
This is my entry for Friday Fictioneers this week. Each week may be my last. I am in a terribly fragile state right now, so…
Thank you if you’ve made it this far. Of course, you could just comment TL/DR (which means “Too long, didn’t read”) and is quite possibly the rudest thing you could post, but then, the internet seems to be a breeding ground for ignorance, so… if you feel like being rude to me, just put that in the comments and it will be sufficiently hurtful.
“Where the fuck does she think she’s going?”
“Thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”
“Well, fuck her, then. I can’t believe I ever gave her the time of day.”
“Me, too. I’m going to remove any trace of her. I’m going to remove her name, her face, and anything she ever wrote.”
“The nerve of her. Calling us banal, and shallow. We’re not banal and shallow, are we, dear?”
“Not at all. So where are we going?”
“That barn over there.”
“What’s in the barn?”
“Don’t know, but everybody else is going, so it must be cool.”