It's Not The World

The world seemed loud and annoying at first, and that sentiment remained unchanged for quite some time. Indecisive as it was, it could never decide whether it cared, whether it enjoyed, or again whether it mattered. For instance, it thought that it thought that it enjoyed being able to break the rules, but it was not entirely certain. And sometimes the thought emerged that a complete stranger who saw it for the very first time would have an equal chance at guessing correctly all of the little details and opinions that culminated in it. Was it sad? What did it enjoy? Did it care, or did it matter? All of it teetered on the point of a totter that the slightest draft could influence left or right, up or down, big or small. And yet it kept returning in its mind to the uncertain notion that it was having fun with this. Eight billion of them gathered around the rock, and who could say whether special was a real thing that had been gifted upon it, but then think of the fame! Think of the materialistic! Think of the publicity that has surrounded it for seventeen years and it has nothing to show for itself! It has seen the young ones who before first words spoken had been more special than what it had been able to accomplish with all of its time. And then, all of the pondering had left it bitter. So much so, that it decided to forget it all, and once again toss the blame so that it descended to the volume and irritation of the world.