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Tuesday Hatred: dreaming, trying, flailing.

It is popular to admit failure. Obviously those who report their failures do so after a subsequent success. If they weren’t in the end successful they wouldn’t have been newsworthy in the first place. I hate success. It’s such a subjective criterion. What we see is projected through the lens of success.

Me, I’m just flailing. Waving frantically, mostly without an audience. Failing probably but not failing fast as is the fashion of the moment. The best way to fail fast is not trying. The best way to not try is not dreaming. I never go for the best. Seconds is my thing and my seconds are not of fame.

Let me explain minutely.

I don’t set goals. Goals are what success and failure have in common. In a competitive society one person’s goals are the other person’s failures. A zero sum game. Better not to make the sum then, certainly if you are lazy. I, most certainly, am. I always hated winners. Probably out of self-protection, I’d hate to hate myself. So, I don’t set goals. People tell me I should. I have qualities, they say. What a waste, they say. Stop all this dreaming, they think. Nobody ever made money dreaming. Good reason to ban the making of money, I say.

I tried to be part of a family. That goes all right, not in the least because the family tries back. Goals though no, we don’t have any. We’re just a family. Stuff happens and we deal with it. We dream a lot. I’m scared as hell that ultimately we’ll all be flailing. Meanwhile we’re doing OK. Hug a lot, that kind of thing. Nothing to speak of, really, nothing newsworthy. Still, if I wouldn’t hate success, I’d call it just that. Heavenly no-goals territory. If we make sums, things add up. Should be enough but isn’t. We are a bunch of dreamers after all.

Most of my life I just worked towards somebody else’s goals. I am good with other people’s goals. I can take them to heart as my heart doesn’t need to be in them. Just doing a job. Shop around for a goal, put it in the cart, beep it out and bring it back marked ‘achieved’. Goals are cheap on account of there being so many. As long as you get access to the shop, that is. Gaining access to the shop is the most common form of success. I got lucky on that score. Well bred, well fed and the type of brain that easily loads other people’s goals. Did I need to put in effort? No. Did I need to set goals. No. People would call it merit. I know it was just privilege.

Anyway, as they say, not enough. A dreamer dreams and sooner or later he forgets why dreams are for the night when it’s quiet and rarely anybody is around. I forgot. Started chasing. Left the shop of other people’s goals and set one of my own, an American one. From then on my heart was in it. Now my heart is sinking with the rest of the ship, leaving me flailing. I gained the full autonomy of being dictated around by my own goal. My own goal has entered the family space, like a foul mouthed pirate speaking in my voice. Yes, I can do it but I don’t want to but I need to say B (and C, and) but I’m tired but I need to believe in it but believe in what but just set doable short term goals and take it step by step but I hate steps. That’s the whole point of dreaming, not to be bothered by steps. Slowly I feel I can’t dream anymore. Can I go back? The goal shop doors are closed, I need to get my new badge. One that doesn’t have failure written over it. So keep on keep on because failure is good as long as it can be described from the perspective of success.

When I can’t dream anymore, I have lost every reason for trying.

How long can you go on flailing? Nine words.

3 months. Give or take 3 months or so.

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October 14, 2015 - Posted by | Tuesday Hatred, waking up in a cold sweat

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