People say it’s better to take a bad decision than no decision at all.
I don’t agree. Not taking a decision, in the absence of all the facts, is a way of thinking and not a thing to be condemned out of hand as some underlying weakness.
I am not a first adopter, neither in love nor in gadgets – and I don’t think I ever will be. And if this means I shan’t be queuing up to buy at midnight some famous early morning, so be it. And if this means love slips me by … well, so it has been all my goddamn life.
People play with me in order to show me playfulness is damaging: and this I have known from the start. But what none of you understand properly is that my perception of life is that it is so clearly unlovely, unloving and harsh for me that play really serves for me to keep at bay the awful, soul-wrenching truths of reality.
If playfulness is something I also must have excised, then life is something I will not be able to keep at bay any more. And the terror of life, and the horror of its petty cruelties, and the violence most of us commit – even if only verbally – to each other … well, it’s something I will be utterly incapable of dealing with.
And here I do not play …
… if I change the nature of the sort of people who I have around me: yes, that is one way. But even here this kind of change is false, easy and kind of a cop-out: when you exclude people – or include certain others, always with their permission and benevolent connivance – you are actually using them to ameliorate with casually applied behaviours things you are simply not strong enough to face up to.
And it is your job as an adult to do so.
And if I cannot be a playful person, and if I am not allowed this protection, this cocoon, this way of saving myself from further pain, then life will become a dulling object of experience: a round grey pebble which used to skim beautifully across beautiful seas, and now sinks foolishly into the laps of gods who I no longer manage – nor care to – comprehend.