On Apathy

Prelude, and a Warning

I am writing this little note with the full knowledge that someone who may understand some of the specifics that I am basing my generalizations on will read it, understand it, and take this personally. Please do not take this personally. It is not something to be taken personally. This is just me ranting. This makes me feel better. There are no specifics, only generalities.

Part the First

I just do not know which is worse: People not knowing or people not caring. There is a general level of apathy that I sense in the people around me. Apathy about the things that we do all day.

  • “I’m not going to worry, someone else will get that.”
  • “I’m not going to worry, that’s not my job”
  • “Tell me what it is you want me to tell you so that you will get off of your arse and do what I need.”
  • “Tell me what you want to hear, so I can make you go away.”

The song of those who don’t know, or don’t care. Sometimes both.

Part the Second

Apathy: the beautify art of seeing the thing fall, at ridiculously slow speed, and still choosing to allow it to fall rather that expend any energy; to not even appear to go through the motions of preventing the mess that will follow the smashing of the thing upon the floor. “That is not my problem.”

Part the Third

Am I alone not guilty of this thing, apathy? Who am I kidding? It is an infection that is spreading though the organization. The life-sucking tentacles reaching deeper into the organizations heart, stealing the energy from everything. It is turning my word into a wonderful, beautiful, rotting place where the people around me are merely there waiting for me to do their work for them. To answer the questions they have no idea how to ask. To design the solution they cannot say that they want. To run headlong into that spike covered wall, in an effort to amuse them the patterns of my blood splattering into patterns on the floor–shapes without meaning, littering the floor.

“Two Jelly, two glazed, three chocolate, and one plain …” Donuts stored on a shelf.

Part the Fourth: An ode to Distraction

Just too many things … I see, I hate, I want, I desire.

Don’t take it personally, I’m just looking past you. I can see the future.