When I reread www.pablochiste.com I feel like I might be an old crank. All of my commentary is complaining and criticizing as though I’m one of the old muppets in the balcony. But for some reason happiness doesn’t inspire me to write.
That’s not exactly right. Sometimes when I’m at a moment of bliss instead of savoring the moment I think, “I’ve got to write about this. I have to share this feeling with everyone in the world and let them know this is what life is all about.” But then I get in front of the computer and the words don’t come so easy. Annoyances and angst though get my fingers moving all over the keyboard.
Part of this might stem from a weird sense of humility. I’m aware it’s the height of hubris to call yourself humble, so let’s instead call it what it is, self-consciousness. I’ve read articles and blogs from people about what a glorious day they’ve had and what wonderful work they’re contributing and how grateful they are to be part of a loving marriage. And all I can think is, “What a jerk”. Who are you to be bragging about what a boon to society you are and thereby demeaning my own sense of status in the universe? If I wanted to feel bad about myself I’d look in a mirror.
So keep coming here if you want to read bitching, ranting, and whining that will uplift your own self-esteem. If you want to read about what a wonderful world this is, head elsewhere and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.