Still A Little Hard To Say What's Going On

I am supposed to come up with something to Say. Something to explain myself, something Important. If life were like television, my well-crafted script would be executed flawlessly, and the recipient would consider my words carefully, and a change would be wrought, in everyone.

Wroughting change. Wrighting change. Something-ing change. That's what words are for, right? But we're too stubborn and stupid in real life to do that. We mess up our lives blindly, happily forging away at some small, useless corner of existence, when we could be living in the entire extended sphere of our potential.

Potential. What a silly word. Potential. I quit believing in it months ago, when I realized my own fatalism (in the fate sense of the word this time, not the fatal), and embraced the idea that we can only do whatever we know how to do. It's why people run faster to break shorter records these days, and why more and more kids are succumbing to anorexia. There is no such thing as potential. There is an is, and there is a was, and there is perhaps a path to a can be.

The end of the story is, words are useless, and I expect no change wrought in anyone, until that change is good and ready to happen. Which pulls me back to time.