The little things, they don't bug me like they used to. People who are late for non-critical meetups? Whatever, I always have a book or screaming child with which to amuse myself until they arrive. Misunderstandings? My episodes of sputtering rationalizations and excuses are fewer--I'm tired and would rather apologize and move on.
Forget to cite me? Fuck you; we're done. My discoveries are limited and precious, and when they are passed off as someone else's find--no matter the intention or the enthusiasm--it really stings. I wish I wasn't so petty, and that I craved no social currency other than my sparkling self. I'm working on it. For now I merely wish that people would remember to say where that cool link, or book, or doohickey that was dropped down the back of their drawers came from.
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