Until now, it amazes me how few people one can actually talk to, how few people in this world will actually sit down and sincerely listen to the burdens, real or imaginary, that people burden their daily lives with: the little failures, the strained relationships, the general stress of living a life that is nothing if not filled with these little annoyances which pile up, one moment after the other, until somebody snaps in his or her own way.
Blame it on ego, the desire of people to wave their hands and do somersaults in order to get the spotlight shine on them, and hold on to it for as long as they possibly can. Blame it on self-preservation, that natural impulse of people to try to get the world to revolve around them whenever they feel something significant has happened to them. Blame it on all the little dramas that are essential to society and the volume of people that comprise it, yet simultaneously make it a living hell for those who cannot bear the irony of wanting to have their voices heard, but fearing to have their stories birthed into the world only to be drowned under other people’s inflated tales of social adventure.
Mistrust? Perhaps, but only because it has happened too many times to be perceived of as otherwise, following that all-too-human pattern of reasoning by induction that makes something, if repeated enough, scientifically acceptable fact.
Left Hand, Write Hand 