Well, We Can Go On and On

About all the things that are wrong with other people and how they hurt us and manipulate us and make us feel like crap. But self-reflection is a high art.

I can start talking about egos but doing so really just elevates my own, that I am better than the rest is an innate, uncontrollable human instinct, developed evolutionarily for self-preservation but bloating unstoppably into things that lead us into war and hatred and gossip.

Can't lose the ego, because for us that's all we are. It's a fact and watch it if you feel the need to conradict it--that is most definitely still your ego, telling you, of course you're unlike other people, you always know better.

That I'm reading a book on Valentine's day is the pathetic thing. But that I'm doing so because my aunt, 7 at 65, has no one to celebrate Valentine's with sort of makes all this much more meaningful. And you know me, I thrive on meaning.

(Note on August 12, 2012: This was originally posted on my Tumblr.  I'm doing some online housekeeping and I figured I'd leave my Tumblr out of the drama and corral introspective shit here. I left my blog last August of 2009 but I've reemerged somewhere between that and this.)