Perfect

In the kitchen, I was putting away my water bottle and keys and stuff, when it hit me: nothing is perfect, and never will be. And I got to thinking, so what’s the fucking point? If it can’t be perfect, why even bother? There will always be injustice, there will always be suffering, some people have it better than others for no reason and that’s always going to be the case and it’s totally not fair so why do we even fucking put up with it? Worldwide suicide. We’re not good enough, and we never will be.

There’s gotta be something wrong with this line of thinking. There’s a quote. “Perfect is the enemy of the good.” I think that’s what’s at work here. In focusing on the perfect, you minimize all in the world that is good and just, and there are some of those things. You should boost the good, not castigate it for being imperfect. Perfect is never a thing, literally can’t be. It’s just an idea that poisons and rots and cheapens everything. Everything. Yeah, I gotta get outta this shit. I think I just wrote myself out of it, so that’s kinda cool. Writing as therapy. Wouldn’t be the first time.