Fuzzy Philosophy

So there's this mistake. Perhaps it's (the) one you habitually make, but it's obviously a mistake. You haven't made the mistake yet, but you recognise its shape and its texture. You know how it's a mistake, you know why it's a mistake, and you have a shrewd idea of the state you'll be in when it all goes so terribly wrong, which it surely will.

Everything about this mistake sets those Divers Alarums a-ringin'.

And yet right at the back of your mind, this little voice starts nagging with "What If..?". What if you're wrong? What if those little differences you're so casually glossing over would make all the difference? What if what you're seeing as a mistake is only the tiniest, most insignificant fragment of the whole? What if you take a different tack from the start? What if you're big enough, old enough and ugly enough to handle it differently, so it wouldn't turn out the same?

But then, the more you think about it, the more alarm bells you hear, the more certain you become that that correct response is to keep the hell away. It's neither what you want, nor what you need.

And yet you just can't stop thinking about it - beyond even those nagging "What If..?" questions - because the mistake has a certain allure. Mistakes can be fixed, after all.

So why would you make this mistake anyway? Because you like the way she looks at you? Because your heart skips a beat when she smiles? Because it might actually be fun, if only for a while? Because the whole thing inflicts upon you such a dreadful, intense feeling of déjà vu, it very nearly turns your stomach, but you're stupidly optimistic enough to think it could be different, if only...

Ridiculous.

It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn*.

So you find (or put) yourself in a position where you feel you have to make a choice, once and for all, just for the sake of your sanity. And the choice is, as far as you see it, to set yourself up to be hurt by making the mistake, or to walk away from the mistake and live with those nagging "What If..?" questions for a while.

And then, since the choice itself terrifies you, you procrastinate... which ends up just amplifying everything.

But then, soon enough, the choice is made for you, by someone else... Who sees things differently... Perhaps they don't see the same problems. Perhaps they don't give a damn. Perhaps it just doesn't matter, or that's how it was supposed to happen.

Hateful and sickening as the choice was, it hurts when it is taken away.

(* And, yes, I did that thing... I quoted Shakespeare. Deal with it.)