I Mean, I Don't Know...

Exhibit A

I'm tired.

Right this second, I'm tired of hearing myself pontificate. I'm tired of feeling it (also, I drank some wine over discussion with a friend last night. This may be a contributing factor).

But, like, I love Bret Weinstein. I fucking love him. He makes so much sense. And there are so many other people who make a similar amount of sense and have varying degrees of my affection and/or agreement.

I want to talk about it, I want to shout it from the mountain top, I want to join this discussion... .

But, dude, in order to do that properly, there would be so fucking much I would have to read, discuss, learn, internalize, contemplate, listen to. And, well, I give you Exhibit A.

The fact that I used a fucking bitmoji for that should suffice in disqualifying me. Not to mention a bitmoji that says "I can't even." I'm embarrassed for me.

Only - I'm not really. And, it's not enough to disqualify me. I am a layperson.

I think there is a sweetness to entering the discussion from that humble perspective (for the record, sometimes I disgust myself).

I guess I'm feeling that I sense that I have a lot to offer and that, perhaps, it is my moral obligation to not be afraid to speak my mind.  But I'm just tired and slightly hungover, and I don't want to argue with people that, as it appears to me, are so far up their asses that they're too embarrassed to admit that there's shit all over their face. They're willing to die in denial to save themselves this humility. How do you deal with that?

Product Manager puzzle solver and solution finder me feels in her gut that there is a way. But like my friend Bret Weinstein says, we have to find the z axis in our evolutionary-knee jerk  two dimensional thinking.

It feels like I/we would need to cut through time. As in, we're going to need to use some quantum physics type shit to see what we aren't seeing.

So, yeah.

Whatever. Don't look at me... .