On harshing your mellow
A friend called me on the carpet not too long ago, messaging to ask why my recent posts have tended to be so harsh and negative – her words. She’s not alone; rodcorp here finds that my recent tone “grates.”
I’m sensitive to that kind of thing. Actually, scratch “that kind of thing.” I’m sensitive to that perception in particular. I like to flatter myself that when I write in a critical mode, I’m being constructive and useful, not simply some random asshole sniping from the sidelines. But didn’t I just say it myself? “Perception is reality.” I sure don’t wanna be that guy.
All I can offer by way of accounting is the admittedly weak plea of seasonally suppressed affect, of a certain disappointment with the world that creeps in toward the ember days of the year. This is something that’s gotten markedly worse for me during these last ten or so meshbound years, in which every piece of bad news the planet is capable of generating can now be pushed to the device at morning’s bedside. (As Gentleman Jim put it, echoing the Buddha: “Seeing everything makes you sad.“)
Oh, and there were some deaths pretty close to home, too, these last few months. People that meant a lot to Nurri and I, people whose voices are sorely missed already. It’s hard to imagine a world without them, or the will to suck it up and drive on.
Still, that’s an explanation, not an excuse, of which I have none. You have my apologies, and vow to do better in the days ahead.