I think to scream at people in the street you have to be the kind of person who screams at people in the street because some people are just not people who scream at people in the street and so it must be because they do not enjoy it. I am not the kind of person who screams at people in the street, but I was raised by one and I remember being embarrassed fairly often (often meaning it happened more than once, more than a declaration of frequency) when my mother would yell at strangers in the street. One of her favorite games was to sit by the basement window (she fixed up a room by the heater in the basement, although it was deemed unsafe for a bedroom) and yell at strangers who parked on the curb or let their dogs piss in front of the house. She did it so often, and told stories of it even more, so I am led to believe that she enjoys this and is proud of it. I tell stories of telling people off, on occasion and I guess I have some pride. But my stories are about my wit and humor and my told offs are familiar and their bereavement deserved (from my point of view, at least). It takes me a lot to get to that point because I would rather set up for smooth sailing, and the ride gets rougher (externally) the more you lash out. Lash out is a bad term – it would be better to say I finally express my feelings. I don’t yell and I don’t really curse – not excessively anyways. I judge, and form opinions, and sometimes they end up being negative. I would never be able to summon the energy to yell at a stranger in the street I am just not the kind of person who yells at people in the street. I don’t even want to be the kind of person who yells at people in the street because I find these kind of people embarrassing and I do not know how they are not embarrassed to their own personal selves and I truly hope that they are and just don’t want to admit it. There are a lot of things that I have realized that are true about my own personal self that I did not notice previous to the realization. There are also things about myself that I know are true internally but would not admit to an external person because I do not want them to know what I know about myself. There are also generally accepted personal and observed truths, and although these are decidedly rare, they are also quite boring. I wonder how much other people live in their own personal delusions. I wonder how much people know about themselves that they will never share. It is impossible to ever know what is in another person’s own personal head because we only have the words that they say to go on, and that is filtered further through our own personal perception of it (which includes knowledge of the person talking, knowledge of the world, and failures in listening). In truth I know I don’t know myself (not fully), and I don’t know myself as anyone else knows me. My view of myself will never be complete, and others have knowledge of me that I may not remember or realize. I wonder if my knowledge of myself amounts to the sum total of my knowledge of others and if increasing knowledge of self increases knowledge of others, and the other way around. I fear that as a society we will no longer be able to forget our history, and so we will be doomed to try not to repeat it again without reevaluating circumstances due to a changing world and years passing by. The landscape of a political debate is temporally grounded, although I am not trying to go into the age old question of morality as a group of fundamental laws. I am talking about politics in the least philosophical sense, which is to say laws for law’s sake and rules just because. Let’s agree that we live in a world that is governed by the importance of life, and that all actions have to aim to best improve quality of life for the General We, or at least let’s agree to disagree. If we live in a world where choices are made to allow people to live the type of life they want to live, as long as they don’t prevent others from living the type of life they want to live, than any action should be permissible. I am over this line of thought and wish I could go outside in the warmth for a walk. If you are now worried that I am trapped at a computer writing this: it’s true, but calm down. I cannot go out and I cannot walk in the warmth for I am in Cleveland and there is a foot of snow on the ground. I would enjoy little else in this world more than I would enjoy sitting in some midday sun. But I live in a place where that is not even an option for most of the year. This makes me think that a fundamental part of happiness is suffering. I do not think this is universal, but I think it should be. If it never snowed here and never got cold, I would still be happy the same amount of my life, likely. I would probably spend fewer nice days outdoors though, and I would get less joy out of the outdoors because I would always have it. So I suppose I would get less enjoyment overall because I wouldn’t be enjoying a thing I enjoyed as much as I would want to enjoy it. Or maybe none of this matters and there are no answers.