I made a promise once that I'd write a full chapter every night I was at my house, and yet here I am with nothing but a snippet, an extra beyond the actual story itself. I also once promised myself that I'd write full chapters every night regardless of my location. Before that, I promised myself that one chapter would be a ticket to stardom.
Who am I to blame for these unkept promises? Should I blame the current me, or as the past me would view it the future me for being unable to uphold a promise that I was once certain I'd be able to keep? That can't be right. Despite my bold aspirations, I can never truly take on anything. If a rock were to be thrown at my head from behind me, I would only avoid getting knocked unconscious by mere chance.
Do I blame the past me for thinking too highly of myself? That can't be right either. We should never blame the aspirational for their optimism. Often we praise needless pessimism as this logical alternative, we conflate it with the buzzword version of 'realism'. That's not fair. That's not a valid outlook on life.
You can choose to see the world whichever way you see fit, but it's never right to make someone else see it the same way. We are allowed to give people the tools to make their own beliefs, but it is beyond sin to force our own upon them.
I don't know. A long drive up north and a hectic evening tells me that I'm not able to make the chapter that I want to, so you're stuck with a third monologue. I initially intended for the halfway break monologue to stand alone, but that was still when I thought I could make chapters away from home.
Maybe I should've done something differently. Even one choice that was different could've landed me in a future unknown to my current self.
But that's not fair.
Because the future is unpredictable.
As am I.