If You Don’t Know What You’re Doing, I Might Just Love You Anyway

December 29, 2020

Every single member of my household screamed and kicked and sulked this weekend.

I might have gone first.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

But I do know that basically everyone had the same complaint: Nobody understands me and they never do and they never will and it sucks.

It sounds ridiculous and overdramatic when you actually say it, but let’s take a little dive off of the capable pedestal for a second, mmkay?

Of course you feel that way.

 

The dog, who was the only member of the household not in deep existential pain, ate an entire bag of peppermint truffles that my husband had in his work bag. 700 bucks later, we are intact, but I sort of admired the little fella because I think what we all wanted to do was throw up and shit bullets everywhere but we are too cowardly to be that honest.

 

 

I am trying to connect with my teenage daughter. The younger one. 15. Do you remember being 15? I really don’t–I mean, not the details of it. But I remember the feeling of it, and it wasn’t good.

So we watch Umbrella Academy together.

That show is crackerjack brilliant.

My favorite character, by FAR, is Klaus. He’s this dude who has no idea what he’s doing with his life, so…just for fun…he decides to form a cult where people respect him and love him because he claims that he knows what to do.

And lo and behold, it works.

Because that’s the thing that everyone is hungry for.

Right?

But then he realizes that it’s smoke and mirrors and pretending like that feels really bad inside. So he tries to tell them, the followers, but they won’t listen because it’s really comforting having someone who tells you what to do.

 

“I’m a fraud,” he hollers. Standing almost naked in this weirdo adult diaper thingy but hey. So then he thinks it’s over, that that’s the end of it, but he ends up being doubly fucked, because everyone hollers back, “Me too!”

 

I guess I am trying to say that if you don’t know, it’s okay. And I just might love you anyway.

 

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