the other day, a friend of mine made a joke about not giving a shit about something that i personally care about a lot, and i’ve been thinking about it since. the joke was funny and all but i haven’t been able to stop wondering how serious they were. the boring, loathsome part of me that no one wants to spend any time with wanted to tell my friend that i hoped they were 100% joking since the topic is one i think everyone should pay more attention to.
of course, i’m glad i didn’t say something stupid like that because that’s the kind of shit that costs you friendships and turns you into a weird, isolated, militant hippie, living alone on a gulf island. i care a lot about a lot of shit but i don’t want to end up like one of those bitter souls.
and that’s what got me here now. i think it’s a real conundrum because if you are passionate about stuff, you will either chew people’s ears off with your “the world is a festering piece of shit” act which isolates you from most normal people, or you will hear something that offends you but you will deny what you feel in your heart and shove the venom back down into your guts, your face twisting into an uncomfortable mixture of a fake smile and a grimace as you sweat like a mad bastard with scorn for yourself, everyone around you, and the whole fucking world.
both of those options are the shits.
meanwhile, the easy-going and carefree are doubly blessed: the less they care about weighty issues, the happier they are, and the happier they are, the more people like them — happy, popular, and blissfully ignorant. life is swell for the cheerful pricks.
the miserable become more miserable, the happy become more happy. it makes sense but it doesn’t seem right or just to me.