October 27, 2010
I wish I was a more mathematical person. If so, then I would definitely make a feasibility before I jump into things I have no business exploring. I would quantify the benefits (short and long term) and I'd compare them to the risks involved in a very mature manner. A little bit of pontification later and chances are I'd hit upon a formula of how-to-proceed that works for me. But the truth is, once-upon-a-long-long-time-ago maths and I waved at each other from far away and then proceeded to go our separate ways, never to meet again. So now, instead of making clever, calculated decisions, I decide what to do at each step of my life, based on a lethal combination of mood and whimsy. Naturally, this often leads to situations that garner eventual regret, but somehow I can't seem to prevent myself from emotional indulgence. There was a time, when this particular tendency to do-what-I-want-now-and-deal-with-the-consequences-later would have been charming, in an adventurous kind of way, but now I have come to find this aspect of my personality distinctly tiresome. How many times, asks the unfortunate-adult-deep-within, am I going to have to bear the brunt of your stupid-thoughtless decisions? That, I don't know, say I, all I know that the child is not yet done having fun. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it.