Strange Gratitude

“They know the children are much too young to be able to muster an intellectual defense against a sophisticated idea like that, and they know that up to a certain age children believe everything their parents tell them.

And as a result, they never learn to question things. Nobody questions things in this country anymore.

– George Carlin

Forever grateful for growing up in the awkward position of never really being able to trust my parents.

While deceit was not at every turn, maintaining the vigilance of doubt and suspicion was a well paved road.

Mostly through sardonic sarcasm, diabolical deceptions, misconstrued memories, acrid anger, and when possible, kept benignly busy.

“The words with which a child’s heart is poisoned, whether through malice or through ignorance, remain branded in his memory, and sooner or later they burn his soul.”

― Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Fortunately or unfortunately it manifests itself in the neurotic over thinking of even the most mundane trivialities into something so colossally imperative, it takes every wave of energy just to remember to breath.

Wrought into the malleable position of believing in nothing or nothing.

Save for questioning that nothingness, into something, that is neither tangible or concrete.

Therefore the gratitude lies, (how ironic) in being able to question nearly everything.  Even the stuff I  “believe” in. Perhaps not all the time, but enough to keep me on my toes.

Unfortunately, up until now, stagnating real evolution by Devil’s advocate justifying, from moving forward because ’tis easier to be a contrarian to contradictions then to find a better way.

Just need to figure out how,  before I talk my way out of it.