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Writings : Yowlings

Leave now if you don't like people tearing off on occasionally self-righteous #%*#&%* sessions.

Right. Thanks for stopping by.

This rant is for June 22nd, 2001.

And it's not really a rant.

I'm waking up.

I never thought I'd have to do this.

I've grown arrogant--used to always being able to access memory or at least give a good glare to someone who has it. Having any actual blanks that affect the group is *not* tolerable. It means that we have none of the professed selves-control that we've worked for--the diplomatic arrangements, the organizations and the struggles to keep on track with what society would like to think is a singleton's world.

Memory. I was used to that.

I'm waking up now and remembering the fit of my body. It's disconcerting--a set of clothes I haven't worn in the longest time. There are old wails that only now come back to me, stored up over the months of things I was half-asleep through and didn't rouse to help fix.

I'll admit right now that I should have known better. As someone who sticks up and watches out for the general group in here, I should have done something quickly. And I tried, I'll admit that too. But what are you supposed to say to someone who is truly happy with the world and just doesn't see any other reason to continue on--that the world doesn't need us anymore, that no one'll even know if we're 'real' or not in the end?

Because it's vanity and selfishness--in a collective way--to say we're good enough to be here. Even if we are. That our happiness should matter, and that we shouldn't just *make* ourselves happy by tailoring out traits in us, but by affecting the world around us. And anyone who is inconvenienced can go skip. Because it's what everyone does. We all look for joy where we can.

But the only ones who can really protect ourselves are each other, just like every other person. We've got responsibilities to ourselves as individuals because--just like everyone else--in the end, we're the ones who have to look out for ourselves. Saying that we don't need to be taken care of because we're not important enough to retain our *selves* is something that helped drag us all the way down here.

And I'm waking up. Never thought I'd have to do this. But here I am again and the world's off half-a-notch, and I'm settling back down with my coffee in one hand and a question in the other.

But it's fine. Because even if I don't catch up on all that's happened--even if I lose the past with the rest of all that swampy mess back there--then it doesn't change the present. And the future. Nothing I forgot will keep me from remembering that I have my own function to be here. Even if we never find an answer in why we exist or if we're real, then we'll still reach the end of this together.

And we're going to have a hell of a closing party at the final point tally, because we'll get to rent the tables en masse. I've got the keys. Mary can be the designated. And the kids'll finally have enough cake, and we'll go giggling home to sleep it off and the spiritual tax collectors can find us when we're good and ready. Check's in the mail, guys. The check is in the mail.