Tough Love

First thing is first – watch this.

It hurts, doesn’t it? Mostly the cat. That damn cat.

But here’s the thing, I think I need that cat. I mean, I really miss my cat back home, and wish desperately that I could claim my flat is constantly dirty because I have an animal to look after (which might seem like a stretch, but my cat used to steal my jewelry and hide it in corners of the basement along with bits of his supper – disgusting. He also has a great fondness for getting his paws wet with toilet water and then running to the nearest window to ‘clean’ it). Moreover, cats have attitude. Major attitude. Grumpy cat anyone?

This is the face I need to see first thing in the morning as it paws at my own, annoyed that I’m not feeding it. Annoyed that I’ve hit snooze on my alarm five times already. Annoyed that I’ve already decide I’m not going to go to the doctor today… for the fourth day in a row. Annoyed that I’m going to spend my day off reading articles on Buzzfeed and watching The Voice online (but can I be blamed? Usher, why so beautiful?). Annoyed that I continually complain about working in a café full-time and continually do nothing to change my situation. Annoyed that I’m always tired. Exhausted.

While I miss the comfort of a furball, what I really need is the tough love.

And since my lease clearly states that I’m not allowed to have pets – I’m going to have to give it to myself.

So if we ignore the glaringly obvious masturbation joke, we can get to the root of the problem.

Change.

Change is one of those things we talk about a lot – good, bad, necessary. It’s not something we tend to do a whole lot of though. Not by choice.

People tend to be creatures of habit. For all we fancy epic stories about warriors on great quests and heroes saving the world – we’re a lot more like hobbits. And not the awesome Baggins-type either. More the sad, frumpy, extra hairy feet-kind that smoke too much and break chairs with our robust rear ends. The ones that wouldn’t make up stories about giant, impulsive humans – not because they couldn’t, but rather they couldn’t be bothered.

But I’m bothered.

We avoid change like a ninth grade gym class dodges flying red balls. People love stability, yet we also desperately crave chance. The sheer potential, the unpredictability, the hope.

Maybe this is the winning lotto ticket. Maybe tonight is my night. Maybe this time he’ll stay.

In my experience, chance is when a pigeon flies into the café you work at and lands on you shoulder like you summoned it with your newfound skills as the Queen of winged rats (cheers, Kim).

So why do we waste our time pretending?

For instance, take the single person mantra, “If you stop looking, love will come to you.” It makes perfect sense. Actively ignore any means to acquire what you want and hope it’ll magically appear. People, after all, are wizards at heart. Sadly, it doesn’t seem to be working with my taxes, and despite what some smug couple might tell you – it’s generally not the case. At least, I haven’t had much luck Beyoncé walking down the street ‘for myself’ (can we take a moment to appreciate that Beyoncé autocorrects with an accent).

Is it change or is it the potential for rejection – love or otherwise – that we really fear?

We lock ourselves away in safe little bubbles – behind computer screens, at jobs we don’t like, studying subjects we’re not interested in but may result in future employability – because the idea of that bubble bursting is far more terrifying than spending one more week inside it. And that week quickly can turn into months, years, decades. One day, maybe, you can try to think of a safe way to exit the bubble without causing it too much damage. Because you never know, you might have to return to it one day. No sense in burning bridges.

But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Burning bridges? Not in the pyromaniac sense, of course. Though scorched earth policy – that shit works, just ask the Russians. I think it would just be a lot easier for people if the only path we could choose was forward – Russian winters be damned.

Because that choice, as blaringly obvious as it may seem from the outside, is somehow an impossibly difficult one. Tough calls are tough for a reason. We all curse out the referee watching out favorite teams, but when it comes to our own lives – we watch passively from the sideline. Refuse to get our heads in the game. And yes, I did just make a High School Musical reference. Worse, I didn’t even mean it ironically.

Obviously, the best places to get advice from are adolescent television musicals and Youtube videos with pictures of animals, right?

I thought as much.

Zefron, rabbit – I won’t let you down.

Writing internship applications, here I come.

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