Fiction / Non-fiction

Fester Fester Fester

I positively hate it when someone’s own personal affliction and journey becomes motivation  for them to do something for others.

It’s like, be selfish or don’t. If you’ve faced discrimination because of your sexual orientation, don’t tell me that you want to help kids with that same problem. If you get migraines, don’t let that drive you to studying neurology. If you’re a bitter freelance writer, don’t let your neurotic, irrational resentment for people who actually contribute to the world become an exercise in formulating lists.

Because that isn’t altruism or charity. It can’t be if the end goal is just to help what is essentially an extension of yourself.

And don’t get me started on those people who don’t make a distinction between themselves and the rest of the world, instead seeing the interconnectedness of all things including themselves, and thus enriching any aspect of the world enriches them, for whom does the bell toll, oh I guess it tolls for me even when it’s tolling for you–cut it out.

If you want to be a saint, pick up your head, and frown if you can.

St. Denis gets it.

Fester, fester, fester.

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