sirscootsalot

Why do you always have to "make the best of it"? It's almost an axiom of life, but why? To what end? Are we living purely for pleasure or are we avoiding a reality of fate by being glib?

I just got back from training in Cincinnati. The last couple of days there, I was dying to get back home. I can't even fathom why now, but my life seemed inexorably perfect and full outside of Cincinnati. Tension, tension, tension, and I'm finally back home, and I'm aghast that this fetid monotony was the utopia for which I was hoping.
Every hour I've been back has been heaped with trials and disillusionment. And through it all, I keep hearing, "You just have to make the best of it."

That's so bullshit. It's like building a dam with nothing but stones. No matter how big you make it, the river will still flow. And as soon as you stop stacking the rocks, the dam falls. It's all useless.

I haven't the fortitude to stand fast, so it's go with the flow. But I have yet to find the honor in compromise.

I question the abyss for resolve in the future. No echo, no warmth, just solitude and darkness, and it's the only thing that comforts me despite derision.