I know I blame you a lot, and not every source of misery originates
with you alone. You know how I love to throw parties, however, and a
pity theme is very en vogue. I don't have to spend a lot of
time in the kitchen worrying about food because there isn't but one
attendee and lucky me I win all of the games!
Seriously though, I know you can't help but be yourself, as you were
brought and formed in this world. Like any of us. But where does blame
go? My genetic contributors? I think they punish themselves enough;
they never needed my help. The Universe and its wonderful wizard
behind the curtain? Maybe, though it'd be awfully egocentric to truly
believe such attention to detail was bestowed on li'l ol' me.
The sad truth of the matter is there is no one to blame. No malevolent
entity or lack of prenatal care. The truth of it is: shit happens.
It's a frightening truth, honestly. It's easier and more comforting to
believe everything in life, no matter how minuscule to the workings of
the universe it may be, is purposeful. It's just easier for everything to
have a name tag on it to better mentally organize and cope. Oh, sure,
you can call it transposition of the greater arteries with ventricle septal
defect but really, in actuality, it's just One of Those Things.