There came a place and a time in my life when I came to a conclusion . . . feelings just weren't worth the effort. What brings this topic up at 4:21 a.m.? The movie Leap Year. I know what you're saying . . . What in God's name were you doing watching a chick flick that early in the A.M. Two words . . . Chip Monelli. Oy. So anyway I digress.
Anyway, once again I have found myself in a precarious place. My insides feel rusty, misused, and covered in dust. It sort of feels like the machinations that make up the clockwork of my heart are missing a few cogs. I've wanted so badly again to feel, but I don't remember why. I've tried to improve my mood and the way I behave around people, but my kindness has been misunderstood.
My conclusion: Being kind only leads to being mean.
My reason: You can't be kind to people because they will always suspect an ulterior motive. So in the end, my pessimism may win out. The very people who tried to convince me that be optimistic and kind are the very ones who've now helped to convince me that maybe its just not worth it. I don't know if I can put any kind of theological argument in here to strengthen my case, and this is all more than likely a result of my own bitterness and current distress.
All in all . . . kindness is splendid . . . I just don't know if it works well for me.
I need a complicated, high maintenance girl . . . fml
-Scritch out
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