Solutions and Other Problems

Death can take away your friends and pets, but it can't take away the weird shit they did.

Sometimes all you can really do is keep moving and hope you end up somewhere that makes sense.

I don't believe in karma, but I believe there are things that can happen that very specifically force you to understand what an asshole you were.

Because that’s intimacy, Buckaroos. Somebody who understands exactly how weird you are, and you understand exactly how weird they are, and you’re in a sort of mutually beneficial hostage situation.

I mean, what am I - some clueless animal who needs love and companionship? As it turns out, yes - that is what kind of animal I am. I just never realized it before because there was enough ambient love and companionship around to make it seem like maybe I don't have needs, and that's why it doesn't feel like I need anything.

Anger is not a graceful emotion. I've never gotten mad and been like, "I'm glad I behaved like that!" I feel weird about it every time.

That’s the scary thing about decisions: you don’t know what they are when you’re making them.

I didn’t want to ask for help, though… It didn’t seem like I deserved it. I also wasn’t necessarily ready to admit to an obvious sign of weakness like emotional needs.

When you can explain things to people who are willing to listen to you explain them, it is extremely difficult to resist fully and brutally explaining them. It feels good to explain them—like maybe you’re getting somewhere. Like maybe, if you can just… really explain them, the experiences will realize you’re catching on and stop bothering you.

Having to be personally responsible for maintaining justice in the world is distressing. It makes it seem like maybe there’s something wrong at the Universal Fairness and Balance Department. Like maybe the higher-ups have lost control and they need help.

Unfortunately, the world doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t. Not fully, at least. Not if you keep poking it. And poking harder doesn’t do anything. In fact, the harder you poke it, the less sense it makes. And once you start to notice this, it rips through you like a Tasmanian tornado octopus, rending your stupid little sense of meaning apart with its flailing power arms.

For the sake of trust building, the third chapter will follow the second. But then we will jump directly to chapter five, do you understand? No chapter four. Why? Because sometimes things don’t go like they should.

you keep going, you’ll eventually realize that the one true answer to all your questions is: Of course it doesn’t make sense—what business do you have expecting things to make sense?

If you can't win, start playing a different game and score just as many points.

This might be hard to believe, but the reason this happened is because I was trying to be a good person. I don't know what I'm doing at all, but I'm trying REALLY hard. And trying really hard when you don't know what you're doing just happens to be the exact recipe for acting like a fuckin' weirdo.

Carl believes that he is better than everybody, when really, he is slightly worse than average.

This is a reasonable point. And when you're in full-on rage-ejection mode, there is nothing more infuriating than a reasonable point.

But, as long as you aren't dead, you need something to do. And surviving is something to do.

And trying really hard when you don't know what you're doing just happens to be the exact recipe for acting like a fuckin' weirdo.

And that feels . . . really bad. I could go on and on about how bad it feels. When you can explain things to people who are willing to listen to you explain them, it is extremely difficult to resist fully and brutally explaining them. It feels good to explain them — like maybe you're getting somewhere. Like maybe, if you can just...really explain them, the experiences will realize you're catching on and stop bothering you.

So we all just stood there, feeling weird about ourselves and each other.

So, for the first time in ten years, there was nothing around but me. I thought that's what I wanted. But when the relief wore off, it was actually a little weird not having anything around that wanted to interact with me. This was confusing, but in a way, I kind of missed it. I think what I'm trying to describe is loneliness. I felt pretty offended by it. I mean, what am I - some clueless animal who needs love and companionship? As it turns out, yes - that is what kind of animal I am. I just never realized it before because there was enough ambient love and companionship around to make it seem like maybe I don't have needs, and that's why it doesn't feel like I need anything. Experiencing real loneliness for the first time is like realizing the only thing you've ever loved is your home planet after migrating to the moon.

Okay, guy--guess what: you don't get to choose the bananas anymore.

Imagine having a friendship like that. Like Hey there, pal...looks like you're having a weird day, so I understand if you need to trap me in a sleeping bag and rub the inside of a banana peel on me until I admit that my name is Dance Pony.

Woah there, Scooter...looks like you might be starting to veer towards nihilism...anyway, it's sand time now.

If you keep going, you’ll eventually realize that the one true answer to all your questions is: Of course it doesn’t make sense—what business do you have expecting things to make sense?

W're both nice people, usually. But this wasn't a regular argument. It was the type of argument you can only have with people you're REALLY close to -- people you know so well you start to forget they're a different person from you, so it sort of feels like nobody can see you.

My grandma usually supervised me while my parents were at work. She'd drink screwdrivers and do the crossword, I'd run around the house and do whatever. If she hadn't seen me in a while, she'd check to make sure I still had all my fingers, but escaping wasn't a big concern. The doors were locked. Just in case, there were jingle bells on the handles. The dog door was the single weak point in the fortress.

if you grow up only reading happy stories where you find out the answers to all your questions, you will be scared and confused and probably die in a dumpster fire. It is better to accept the utter futility of things as early as possible and save yourself the struggle