Collecting Quarters

I don't know. I might start posting more here. Last fall, I started writing a "journal" of random things that came to mind, just to work through them and get them out of my head. I want to believe I have insightful thoughts, and that through my years of practice, I've cultivated the ability to express myself via the written word effectively. But then I always doubt myself, and try to dial back my ego - I'm an insignificant worm. In half a century or so I'll be gone, barely remembered (and that's if I'm lucky). Nobody cares who I am. Nobody cares what I think. It's all dust in the wind.

But in the meantime, I have to believe there's some purpose to my existence, or how else could I go on? But then there's the fact that every time I express myself, I come to regret it. I've quit every social network I've come across so far, except Facebook - and that's only because it's my only way to stay in contact with my family (since I live far away and don't do phone calls). I keep going back and forth on whether I need more exposure and feedback (which is scary), or if I deserve to be the only one listening to the echo of my voice in an empty auditorium.

Well, here we are, aren't we? I tried expressing myself a little more on Facebook, but the result is either 1) I might as well be listening to the echo of my own voice in an empty auditorium, for all the feedback and engagement I get, or 2) that's more people I've offended and who have probably decided to cut me out of their life (this might be displacement, because the reality is that I feel so embarrassed I want to cut myself out of their life). If I'm expressing myself here in this empty auditorium, at least I won't have to hold back so much. I don't know what the point is - it never seems to turn out well - but if I've learned one thing from being on the internet, it's that this quiet, reserved kid yearns to express themself. To be heard, to be felt to be significant in some way. Even if it's all a pathetic delusion.

Starting with a joke: How can you spot a sadist on a power trip? Look for the robe and gavel.

And now my rant, which isn't even as long as the introduction I've now given it.

I used to like collecting quarters when you knew it was just 50 states you were going to need to collect. I was intrigued when they unveiled a companion set highlighting the national parks. But at a certain point it became clear that they were just going to keep generating new collectibles indefinitely, and that really turned me off. It's like games and computer programs and movies and TV switching from single purchase products to ongoing subscription services. I know it's sad when something you like ends, but a story loses its heart when it drags on past its expiration date. And then there's the FOMO (fear of missing out). Like the rotating flavors at Crumbl (but think of all the incredible flavors you'll miss if you DON'T eat dangerous loads of butter and sugar EVERY week!), don't think for a moment that clever minds aren't gaming your psychology, manipulating you into producing the behavioral patterns that profit THEM (not you) the most. I hate the feeling that I'm being played like a fiddle. So when I sniff out a scheme like that, I run in the opposite direction. Fast.