Twenty Five Days Ago

Categories: uncategorized

Date: 08 October 2009 11:33:07

I wanted to stir A friend is, it seems to me, doing something that they shouldn't be, something that could cause a lot of hurt and damage to quite a lot of people. And I find I want to sidle up to them and quietly point out that I can see what they are doing, and that I know, as they know, that they shouldn't be doing it. I suppose I must be dreaming of myself as Nathan, and that my intervention will be acknowledged as wise and correct and that my friend will change their behaviour, and that heaps of gratitude will be poured on my head. But I am at least not foolish enough to believe that that will happen. Instead I know the best I can hope for is to be Cassandra and have any truth that I speak be despised and disbelieved. And that most likely my friend will be cross. They may never speak to me again, they may hold a grudge against me and turn many others against me. To this I should feel that it is a shame, but a price worth paying for saving all those potential casualties. But I don't. I find myself savouring it that `price'. I find myself almost yearning to be maligned, to be shunned, to be hated. That, at least, shows my motives to be quite wrong, and shows that I should definitely stay quiet on this subject, and not intervene. That much is positive. But why do I want to do it, then? What am I actually aiming to achieve? Do I just want to annoy? Do I want to show off that I can spot what, perhaps, few others can spot? (I'm certainly capable of enough self-delusion to believe that I have such a rare insight). I really do not understand myself sometimes.