"you're laying blame,
take this as NO NO NO
not my thing so let it go
if you could see yourself
the tables have turned
the whole world hinges on your swings
your secret life of indiscreet discretions
i turn the screw and leave the scream
don't point your finger, you know that's not my thing
you came to bang bang bang, blame blame blame
not my thing so let it go now" -- rem
but it is all my fault.
i did something wrong somewhere, made a wrong decision, got there five minutes too late, picked the wrong menu item.
i'm sitting in a darkened office. "i wrote the sales pitch, i threw the brake switch... there's some confusion about who's to blame." listening to rem. wondering why i can feel so good and still feel bad, wondering when i should go home to my hungry cat and frozen pizza and piles of blankets and books and just stop.
stop trying to matter.
stop trying to be extraordinary.
stop trying to transcend, even for a while, even a little.
stop trying. stay happy in my corporate job that lets me wear jeans and sweatshirts and answer stupid questions and derive something from that.