I don’t want to be right

Today I flicked on WordPress and smack bang at the top of my followed blogs was my favourite “professional” blog over at Psychology Today magazine. The title blinked at me in large bold type.


Oh sheesh. Do we really have to discuss this now?

Yes Paul. I think we need to have a little chat, don’t we, mmm?

You’re not the final authority. And don’t give me that look.

Well somebody has to talk some sense into you. Remember what happened last time? Three words, Paul. Fountain. Naked. Salami.

And? It was fun.

For a while. Your short-term memory is getting very selective.

So what if it is?

And now you’re getting defensive. I know you. You trudge along detached and brooding under that hat of yours then you throw the match into the firecrackers and it all goes crazy. You forget all that neuro-chemistry I taught you. There will be hell to pay.

Then pay it.

God you can be so stubborn.

I prefer the term “resolute”.

You would.

Look. Just because you’re an old cynic, doesn’t mean I have to join you. It’s not all hormones; smoke and mirrors. Or at least, not always.

So you think huh? And you’re willing to risk your sanity for it?

Sow the wind. Reap the whirlwind.

And quit the poetics. Oh I give up with you. You’re a bag of contradiction. Honestly. You’re talking to yourself again. You’re half-unglued already.

You may be right. But I don’t want to be right. There isn’t a “right”.

I fold down the laptop and look out of the office window. The sun is shining. There’s a girl standing at the bus stop opposite. She is young and pretty and her mind isn’t where she is. It’s somewhere else.


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