It was, semi-recently, suggested to me that I will die alone and unloved. Basically because I'm an asshole who deserves that fate.
And so I, as politely as I could, requested that those words never be said to me again. That would make it twice. There will not be a third time.
It's come to my attention lately, or been brought into focus lately, or whatever, that I probably will die alone, but not because Adolf Hitler hasn't been around to tutor me on being a better person. Rather, I will die alone for the simple reason that I've lived alone, and I will most likely continue to do so.
This is who I am, how I am, why I am the way I am.
There are reasons for things being the way that they are, certainly. But I don't think that those reasons include the universe having a personal grudge against me.
That's pretty fucked up, right there. If I believed that for even a portion of a fraction of a second, well then I might as well just give up now and save everyone the trouble of having to put up with me.
I think about timing, and how it determines everything, and how often it ruins everything.
I think about shallowness and pettiness and vanity.
I think about suspicion and mistrust.
I think about my own commitment to an unrealized ideal.
I think about fear.
I'm pretty sure that, eventually, I will die alone. But when I do, it will be because I chose that particular fate, at least subconsciously. And so a part of me must want it to end up that way. I can't even begin to imagine what the reason for that might be, but there it is anyway.
I'm in a weird mood right now. I'm thinking about becoming a hermit for a while. But I've said that before, and I know that it probably won't happen. Because I still have hope for the future, for some reason.
I have no idea what that reason that might be, either