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#4 of Drunk Work Scribblings from Fall 2019
(originally written November 18, 2019)
Sally is a wholesome name.
I once knew a girl named Sally. She and I dated for nearly a year.
She was pretty and smart and always called me an idiot. I liked that.
She had red hair and green eyes. She had a freckle on her face.
I liked her freckle. And her face. And her hair.
And her eyes.
There's a lot at stake when you date someone you fancy (at least if you actually give a shit).
We have to be vulnerable enough to let people in and give people a chance to hurt us.
It's a lot like holding up a shield while standing with your back facing the enemy--you know how to defend yourself, yet you're giving someone else the chance to absolutely destroy you. It's really no surprise that so many marriages fail. People are afraid to get hurt. People are growing up to be pussies. Everyone is learning to be weak and not take a chance (not just with dating but with life in general).
If you're not capable of letting a stranger completely destroy you from the inside and out, you're not capable of achieving success in life.
People need to learn to deal with pain, failure, and the feeling of absolute hopelessness. It's all just in the mind.
I know I am destined for greatness because Sally made me want to die.
Isn't that nice?
Suicide and success have more in common than one may think.
I mean, suicide is a form of success, right? Hahahahahahahahahahahaahahahaahahhahahaahahahahahahahahaahahhahahahahaahhaahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaahah.
Ha.
I want to die.
But not for Sally.