That's what my therapist says. It upsets me. Because it doesn't seem like it. I guess strangely it's easier for me to believe some of the worst people (The Cheeto) are doing their best. They are ignorant, broken, and have probably never been happy in their life. They don't even know how to be better. But people around me do know. People I am close to. They know, and still. I mute friends rapidly these days. People going to restaurants and having parties and taking vacations in a pandemic. They don't shoulder most of the blame, of course, that's our government. But I think they shoulder some. I watched The Reader last night.
I don't think I'm always doing The Best, but maybe that is My Best. Certainly I've been on the cusp of a better choice and still chosen unwisely, less selflessly. I have. It was short and it was quick. I guess I refuse to believe in a world where selfishness is honored. There is acceptance if I want to go on. But isn't acceptance anti-activist? And if everyone is doing their best and we are meant to accept that, haven't we proven there is no free will? The cosmos aligned to get you right here after all. How is that your fault, or anyone's? Even a serial killer has a burst brain set up by a trillion pinballed atoms throughout history. Am I to believe I was born on a roller coaster, strapped in with only two choices--flail or sit?
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