A foolish consistency may well be, as Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, the hobgoblin of small minds, but a considered consistency is something that might do this gal some good. There is a certain measure of difficulty to be found in the day to day and by certain measure I mean how much water cascades down Niagara Falls?
Don’t bother looking up ‘hobgoblin’. I did and the dictionary said, ‘a bugaboo’. A fucking bugaboo. What the…
I would have an easier time being consistent, I think, if I didn’t have a blind cat screaming at me all day and night. As just one example off the top of my head. She screams about what she wants. She screams about what she doesn’t want. She screams about who is on her pillow. But most of all, she screams like she’s expressing herself, like she’s telling everyone her troubles. I feel for her. But at the same time, it’s really nerve wracking. She’s got a hell of a set of lungs for such a little cat.
It is not really her fault that I am inconsistent, of course. It just seemed like a good segue because she was screaming and I was writing and it does drive me fairly insane(r).
So this is one of the things I will try to work on, if I can remember it. Just being honest. I have a weird tendency to completely space on things that are important to me. It’s probably rooted in trauma, like everything else inconvenient. But whatever. Anyway. This I shall endeavor to do. To be a bit more consistent in life, so that maybe life will be a little more consistent in exchange.
Now that I’ve put the double whammy hex on this idea by talking about it, we shall just see how this all pans out.