today I have a bad case of the '
Whateves'
The
Whateves are the enemy of passion. They are little tiny soldiers with sound strategy, stalking, surrounding and attempting to subdue the rigid monoliths of devotion and dedication.
Surmounting the obstacles of Anything-you-might-happen-to-care-about, the
Whateves march on in their thousands stomping and swarming in unison with their tiny footed stamps and
cry's until they have thronged your urge to stand up to them and poured up then down their numbers, forth descending the black crevasse of your rent throat, choking all desire to speak, to reach out, to care...
The
Whateves are the enemy of truth. In their
lilliputian glory they think to Submerge truth's authenticity and Bind it's power. They create a thin film, Obscuring its clarity, Obfuscating your perception.
While you are covered, conquered by the
Whateves...
You... cannot... be... true...
Today they are too many. I am 'overpowered'. The
Whateves have me in their teeny little clutches.
It's quite irritating.
On days like today, when there are enough of them - piled on in bunches, gripping tight to my heels, grappling with one another, those who can't reach as far as my sock clasping tightly to the
Whateves around and beneath them until they drag behind and under in great piles of writhing, high-pitched
teeniness -
...they actually create something of a lag. An
itsy-
bitsy slowing down effect so that my steps are slightly shorter and take a little bit more effort. If it goes on for many more days, I may even need a short lie-down of an afternoon.
Then those victorious
Whateves will shriek with tinny laughter as they redouble their grip and call up reinforcements....
Who will save me?
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