We’re Not Simply a Sum of the Certificates We Got Just For Showing Up

He was apologizing profusely. I must’ve looked furious because he kept doing it. In reality, I was simply wondering about the things people do ‘profusely’. Does anyone ever do anything profusely (other than apologise)?

We’re a disenchanted bunch, the ‘Millennials’ as we have been dubbed, even though our definition seems up for debate, IPhoneand that wasn’t meant to sound wise and mysterious (ha! like, do you know me?), it’s just no one can decide who falls into that category and who doesn’t. Unburdened of any real objective or purpose, condescendingly referred to as worthless by some who’ve been around for much longer –“I fought in a war, he’s whiny about his iPhone being the wrong colour”– No great war. No great struggle. That seems to have been our crime. I don’t agree with that, though. I believe we’re constantly at war with ourselves—I don’t mean that in a grand philosophical sense, but just…I don’t know. Where was I?

At the garden. With him still yapping my ear off. I would listen, I truly would, but he never had anything to say. For someone with nothing to say, he spoke a great deal. I think that’s another thing wrong with us. Generation Y. We question too much. Perhaps it’s an incessant need to stay relevant, engaged, so we talk and talk, afraid if we stay quiet for too long, our voices will be forgotten and eventually lost among all the neglect and indifference. Generation Y seems fitting (oh the possibilities with that pun—both auditory and visual, Y sounds like why and looks like a road branching off into tw—I care not how lame you think that is! It is wonderfully clever! It is.) Curiosity is never a bad thing. But I think we question to compartmentalize. To decide which checkboxes are being ticked off and which are still mysteriously vacant. Perhaps I think too much.

Does anyone do anything profusely besides apologize?

People sweat. They sweat profusely. I realized he was doing that too under the hot sun out in the garden. I smiled suddenly and waved him into the house. Perhaps lemonade could shut him up for a while. It hardly even mattered, it’s not like I cared enough to still be upset about it.

We’re a disenchanted bunch.

Yours Truly,

sign-off

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