Nuisance

The universe makes me angry.

It's stupid that we're set up in these situations where we trickle through time like tiny, helpless grains of sand. We're moving, we're constantly shifting through the world, but we're also at a standstill, internally, inter-personally. We get into a comfortable place and we stay there, and we hold onto that situation and setup until it's such a pain that we must thrust ourselves out and into the closest refuge, where we establish said comfort again. It's a vicious cycle, a continuity that cannot be broken, a Möbius Strip of 'change' that confuses us to believe that things are different, things are progressing, when in reality, we end up right where we began.

Disappointment. Dissatisfaction. Discomfort.

I'm angry, because I am a part of this cycle. I'm angry, because I realize I'm back where I was before, that after all the tears and emotions and hatred and everything else, I've just followed through on this cycle of being let down.

But why was I let down? Was it because of the situation, or the people involved, being less than what they should have been? Or was it because, once again, I had set my expectations at an unrealistic high, set my standards for a different outcome, when in reality, the input and formula had not changed at all?

Maybe that's why I keep shifting through those phases, from overwhelming joy to debilitating sorrow. Maybe because of the way we were raised to expect the best for ourselves, the way we were told we deserved nothing but that, the way we were shown to inspect everything with the utmost intricacy, as to make sure to catch any error. Because error meant that the thing, the situation, the place, the people, were flawed, and we were always told to never play with flaws. So in a world where everything was supposed to only be good if it were perfect, what happens when one realizes that nothing is? If nothing is perfect, is anything good? Is anything satisfactory? How does one react? How does one deal with the fact that nothing ever turns out the way one might wish, plan, or decide for it to? How do we deal with the margin of error?

These are questions no one ever taught us how to answer. Our parents wanted only the best for us, our teachers, the best from us, and the movies showed the best to us. But then, all of a sudden, we were adults, thrust into this world of wrongs, trying to obtain only rights, and nothing made sense anymore. Our efforts to be the best went to waste as the world began to list out the population by excellency. Our efforts to have the best went to waste when we realized that our potential could earn us little. And our efforts to involve ourselves in only the best relationships, with the best people, went to waste, when we realized that those relationships would never be ideal, those people would never be perfect, and we would never be satisfied, because all we'd be doing was comparing apples to apples.

We are not apples. Life is not a supermarket, sporting only the shiniest, prettiest fruit. The world is not spun from a wheel of cotton candy and silk, and does not follow a Nicholas Spark novel. And in that, nothing will work out the way we want, nothing will be ideal, nothing will be as we imagined, because that's what separates imagination from reality: error. Error is not something that is taught for us to account for until later in life. Error is not something usually included until we get into higher chemistry and economics courses. But error is pertinent to a set of data; data, which otherwise, would be invalid without.

So maybe I need to stop being so damn angry at the world. Maybe I should stop shouting at the universe for being so damn misaligned. Maybe, instead, I should look inside myself, and ask myself what I expect, and why I expect those things, and whether those expectations are realistic.

Maybe I need to consider the margin of error.