15 May 2008

Begging the invite

Why we always can’t leave things be even when they’re not hurting us is still a mystery to me. Why we can’t simply enjoy simple things without being dramatic is taboo. We are masochists and we love complicated lives. We get off that way.

Take for example, a simple invitation. Let me repeat that: A. Simple. Invitation. NOT a death threat. NOT a subpoena. NOT even the results of an HIV test. So how in screwed existences would it make us so uneasy that we turn into a crime investigator who just gobbled three packs of caffeine—dry?

"What’s happening? Who’s coming? Why is she coming?
Who’s not coming? Why not?
Why there? Who else is invited?
How long is it gonna be? Am I really invited?"

And all that shitload. I remember something in Philosophy class, that “begging the question” is a fallacy. That you’re a bird-brain wuss when you answer a question with another question. Now, in my universe, acting like such an imbecile when thrown—passed—an invitation is the same. The choice between gratitude and mistaking yourself for Paris Hilton even comes later. Either you’re in or you want to be forgotten is all an invitation wants, N.O.T. a blasted question in return.

It’s the other deadly sin.
QWERTY-ed by Paoper at 12:01 |  
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