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Quick Pretention

Truth and Consequences

There's this thing out there, called truth.

Apparently I see it fairly well. It's a matter of observation, asking the right questions, and knowing enough about the players involved and I guess humans in general. Honestly, I doubt my ability sometime, but this statement comes from the praise of others who say I am rarely wrong with my observations.

I am not bragging. Quite the opposite.

More often than not, people don't want the truth. They think they do, but they just want you to say what they want to hear. When that's the truth, then everybody's happy. But if not, just you shut your damn mouth, you here. There is, of course, a way to gently break the truth to someone, or to trick them into discovering it themselves by asking them the right questions, and I often try to do that, but such a thing can be tiring, and when I am weak and frustrated, I'll just drop the T-Bomb without the pleasantries of sugar-coating.

Facts be told, that's how I want it broken to me, but most aren't a big fan of that.

The point of this complaining little bitch-fest that I'm kinda hoping you skipped over is this: knowing the truth is a tiring process in itself, especially if you care. Most people don't realize how much I care for them, and how it personally breaks my heart to see them in pain, to know some advice, but know they don't want to hear it. I have no desire to say "I told you so." Honestly, the fact that I'm right amounts to shit to me, and I'd just as happily be wrong if it meant you were in peace. I just want people to be happy, pure and simple.

And when it comes down to it, I wish I was ignorant. I wish I didn't know things. Because, in the end, it doesn't get me any further. Sure, I get a few more close friends, but I often get double the amount of jealous lovers, bruised egos, and those that think I'm just a shit-talker, and though their personal opinion of me matters about as much as the environment does to George W. Bush, I don't like causing unrest in anyone's life. All I really get out of it is more to think about, and I've got enough of it.

At least once a day I ponder locking myself in my apartment and only coming out when asked to. Each time, I decide that's a bad idea, but I have to admit that the argument for that side is very convincing. . .

I'm done now. Back to life. . .