I see those rooms inside myself that lead to depression, I know they are there, I’ve been inside, even been trapped. Often the knob doesn’t work and you try leaving in vain. I don’t enter anymore, they became like wrong turns you take in Pac Man when in a faster mode. It’s also easy to stay away because, in my case, they smell like vinegar. I know lots stuck inside, I hear them calling for help through the walls, they entered sniffing nothing poisonous. Not so easy, not like I can find the specific door to the specific room in some particular mind. Sort of like arguing who’s better Jimi Hendrix, Eddie Van Halen or Lizzo. Seems obvious one of these things is not like the others. It makes no sense that a person could be stuck somewhere advocating Lizzo as a better lead guitarist. Does she even play guitar? Doesn’t help if I laugh at the pointlessness, which usually I can’t help from doing. My ten year old daughter super annoyed about that part of her father. She might get the wrong flavour slurpee and I laugh. What an unfeeling inconsiderate asshole I am. Sometimes the laughter is infectious and she starts laughing too in the midst of being upset moments ago and shares the laugh of recognition that pointlessness is never far away. I hope it builds her capacity to smell the vinegar and stay to the road. I’m of no help to the person explaining Lizzo’s a better soloist. They don’t care if I jump up and down about the incongruence between ” Ina minute Ima need a sentimental man or woman….” vs. Jimi’s Purple Haze tritone, because their position makes more sense to them. Jumping up and down insisting on your way to help the person stuck is actually no different than being a sailor crashing into the rocks hearing the sirens song.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"