I have recently realized how annoying speech with others can be when the speech itself is absolutely in shambles in terms of sequence. The kind of sequence I am talking about is not the random insertion of thoughts that completely stray from the topic, but a converstation that goes constantly around an enormals circle: and when it seems like one's finally broken from it, one is slammed in the face with a single sentence which could have resolved the converstaion about, what, five minutes ago.
Then you think: there goes five minutes of my life.
The thing about it all is that most of the time, these people are relatives, which is a very unfortunate thing. These relatives are perhaps cause the most anguish when you talk with them, simply because of the fact that in one way or another you are infact connected by blood, and that their stupidity must also, in one area or another run through your now polluted veins.
If being related at all isn't bad enough, here's something else: you care for these relatives, these people who constantly humiliate you both mentally and physically. Therefore you have but no choice but to put up with all the constant noisy chatter that never stops. You have to put up with the converstation that goes nowhere, the interruptions that will not cease, but most of all, the repition, the sequence, the sequence!
For example, I called my cousin today, who, god bless her heart, is a wonderfully talented girl. Unfortunately, she is all confidence and no awareness of herself, of circumstances, and of others. My motive to call her was out of worry: I had just recieved news that she had joined her school band, with the teacher believing that she could not only play the piano very well, but also that she was a very good at reading music.
In her mind of course, she absolutely believed she could play the piano: and technically, yes, she could. She could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. One thing she did admit though was her ineptitude at reading music. So I warn her about the difficulty of even a simple band score, and erged her to pick up a music book and start learning with a small guide I had made her the last time I visited.
But that's my sister's, she says.
No, I gave it to both of you.
She's stored it away in her bedroom.
Then go get it.
But it's hers!
No, it belongs to you both!
At this point I decided to speak with my cousin's sister, who was about seven. Within a minute, I had the whole matter resolved: or so I thought. When my dear cousin returned to the telephone, we at once begun another dialogue which only ended with a shockingly stupid phrase:
Wait, I think we've already lost the paper.
My god! The Sequence! The Sequence!!!
Then you think: there goes five minutes of my life.
The thing about it all is that most of the time, these people are relatives, which is a very unfortunate thing. These relatives are perhaps cause the most anguish when you talk with them, simply because of the fact that in one way or another you are infact connected by blood, and that their stupidity must also, in one area or another run through your now polluted veins.
If being related at all isn't bad enough, here's something else: you care for these relatives, these people who constantly humiliate you both mentally and physically. Therefore you have but no choice but to put up with all the constant noisy chatter that never stops. You have to put up with the converstation that goes nowhere, the interruptions that will not cease, but most of all, the repition, the sequence, the sequence!
For example, I called my cousin today, who, god bless her heart, is a wonderfully talented girl. Unfortunately, she is all confidence and no awareness of herself, of circumstances, and of others. My motive to call her was out of worry: I had just recieved news that she had joined her school band, with the teacher believing that she could not only play the piano very well, but also that she was a very good at reading music.
In her mind of course, she absolutely believed she could play the piano: and technically, yes, she could. She could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. One thing she did admit though was her ineptitude at reading music. So I warn her about the difficulty of even a simple band score, and erged her to pick up a music book and start learning with a small guide I had made her the last time I visited.
But that's my sister's, she says.
No, I gave it to both of you.
She's stored it away in her bedroom.
Then go get it.
But it's hers!
No, it belongs to you both!
At this point I decided to speak with my cousin's sister, who was about seven. Within a minute, I had the whole matter resolved: or so I thought. When my dear cousin returned to the telephone, we at once begun another dialogue which only ended with a shockingly stupid phrase:
Wait, I think we've already lost the paper.
My god! The Sequence! The Sequence!!!
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