I know I’m not stupid, because I see the train coming down the track.
I know I’m terribly stupid, because I tell myself it won’t run me over.
I’m standing on the tracks and letting the train decide how hard I’m going to get splattered. Hell, I might just be sprinting headlong toward it for all I can tell. I’m typically very bad about being overly logical and only playing on 99.9% sure bets, so I don’t at all understand where I’m getting all this motivation to see if being exploded on the front of an iron grill at 50mph will produce any other result. It’s daft as fuck and all I want to do.
I have learned this lesson the hard way four times now, yet I still choose to substitute some insane, absurdly optimistic alternate reality that relies on what is happening to not be happening.
I feel like Nick Fury.
I recognize that the universe has set this reality, but given that it’s a stupid-ass reality, I’ve elected to ignore it.
The best I can figure is I’m just in a rare state where a voice in me tells me I know all of the facts past and present from which I can discern very easily what the future result will be given the present situation, but something in me is still screaming over that voice. Ignore the odds! Play to win! Have hope! Never give up!
The possibility is extremely close to zero… But it’s not zero percent! In my case, that’s as good as 100 percent!
It’s a waste of time and energy for me to worry about trying to plan the most likely outcome, because I’m not going to accept it as fact until it rips me to ribbons. I’ve got to let the rest of the world worry about how anything is going to turn out, and live moment by moment with this unfounded confidence. I have to accept that my typical, analytical self will never win this argument.
NO MORE PLANNING. NO MORE CRUNCHING NUMBERS.
I’ve never wanted a situation to turn out in my favor so badly in my entire life, and goddamn it all if I won’t at least fight myself for the chance that it could happen.