Mixolydian

I have a sister, did you know? We are identical in every way but age. She braids my hair and I braid hers and we talk late into the night about mascara and boys and do all those things that I've always thought sisters must do. Her name is Failure, and she is married to a husband she doesn't love and lives in the dirty city and is a college dropout and a planner but never a do-er and she once tried to be a writer, a teacher, respected, intelligent, friendly, but most of her motivation petered out when she was about my age. I do not love her, but we are virtually inseparable--in fact, you could almost say she haunts me. Dogs my steps, if you will.
So how does one deal with her? Don't pretend otherwise: you all have a sister just like mine. Her needs are pressing and her appetite is insatiable--she gnaws my optimism to the bones and then sucks out the marrow. So, I must ask: should I keep laying my hopes in front of her? Or should I take them out of sight, out of sunlight, and nurse them on their own blood until they become wan and chalky, immobile, atrophied?
If it's anything I've learned, it's that sometimes, at the whim of Providence or Chance, those hopes fall through her eagerly grasping fingers unnoticed to the earth; and that sometimes, at the whim of Providence or Chance, they flower into violently bright blossoms.

So yes, Failure makes school and writing and making friends and being hygienic a real bloodbath sometimes. But... "Will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)"

And don't you forget it, sister.


(Yes. I did just have to throw in an Oh, the Places You'll Go! quote.)

Linger -- The Cranberries