Disappointed after the fact, that is. After the reproach and recrimination, when all should be said and done and I really shouldn't give a fuck any more. There was nothing to say anyway, nothing worth getting worked up about.
But still it distracts. And rattles on.
The Unchecked Ego beats his chest and howls like a gibbon, goading the other monkeys into aping his dance. Ego should be a word for character, but left unchallenged his seems to have run to conceit - conceit which wheedles and needles until it's fed, bloating on sugar and pinches of salt. It has run riot over both sense and sensitivity, all the while pleading innocence and ignorance. While ignorant innocents are easily forgiven, selfish overindulgents are less so. And the tired and sensible in me says that he has seen enough of life to know better.
He has made an artless art of his mediocrity, has become a parody posing as a paragon of the everyman. Each to their own, I suppose, and for many it has its charm. It had, for me. But I've since learned how he turns tales in the fluorescent light, trying to find an angle to flatter his profile. And my stories don't like to be spun that way.
But still it distracts. And rattles on.
The Unchecked Ego beats his chest and howls like a gibbon, goading the other monkeys into aping his dance. Ego should be a word for character, but left unchallenged his seems to have run to conceit - conceit which wheedles and needles until it's fed, bloating on sugar and pinches of salt. It has run riot over both sense and sensitivity, all the while pleading innocence and ignorance. While ignorant innocents are easily forgiven, selfish overindulgents are less so. And the tired and sensible in me says that he has seen enough of life to know better.
He has made an artless art of his mediocrity, has become a parody posing as a paragon of the everyman. Each to their own, I suppose, and for many it has its charm. It had, for me. But I've since learned how he turns tales in the fluorescent light, trying to find an angle to flatter his profile. And my stories don't like to be spun that way.
