It’s self evident that nobody is perfect, right? It’s self evident that I shouldn’t expect myself to be either, no? So, why do I expect myself to be; why do I feel like I’ve taken an arrow when it comes to consciousness that I’ve erred? I must release myself from the toxic grip of perfectionism. Nobody expects me to be free of flaws, so, why should I expect that of myself?
The tiredness persists; the black circles under my eyes grow larger, even in the face of adequate sleep and hydration… I don’t quite understand. I can’t wait to feel energised without coffee again.
Why do we lash out at those who haven’t done anything? Why do others lash out at us, especially when they don’t even know us? Or is that the issue… Have we become so disconnected from one another that we seldom recognise the fiery soul inside the meat suit that is situated behind the screen at the other end of the interaction? Or how we unabashedly spit fire at faceless motor vehicles, chastising for minor errors as if we’ve never erred. I wish for a world where anonymisation is decreased, and humanness, realness, is increased.