perspectives of the militia

Regarding my last post, I can't tell if it was crafted with an underhanded move of denial or not. But that's not my main concern right now, if weightier feelings were to surface later, they'd, of course, be dissected with the due obsession I give everything. But "right now" is dominated with a slight frustration at the too-familiar sine curve I've found myself on.

"Bad Luck", that's how someone identified it to me. For general conversations in the generic bubbly air of coffee shops, "bad luck" suits just fine. But I get the feeling it's not just fine, not for the person who coined the term and not for me, who nodded in consensus. I think we feel like we should take responsibility for it. I think agency is bursting to charge forth in front of us, plant its stance resolutely, and announce: "this is somehow because of you."

"Because of your ways", it'll say, with the kind of tough love a general reserves for his fleet, "because of how you look, because of what you think." I think it'll say this with sharply clipped syllables, no mincing of the words spared. I think it'll march away with too loud clicks of its heel. I think it'll leave behind a trail of dust and shame hovering over my face, taking the veil of the "bad luck" argument with it. I think it'll do all of this if I let myself slip into the crutch of excuses. So I don't. I think it'll show no mercy regardless. And I'm right.

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