Simple as this.

This is a list of things that I do not fare well with:

Skepticism

Indecision

Manipulation

Patience

Lies

Excuses

Arrogance

Secrets

Trust

Haughtiness

Ignorance

Sadness

.

Whether it's a trait that I know I have or a characteristic of someone else's, I am very aware of the fact that I have a limited ability to tolerate all of this. Which is a lengthy laundry list, sadly. I probably can't put up with most of it because of the slight patience issue, for which the Stanley family is in notoriously short supply (notorious, at least, within the confines of our own family-fault acknowledgment).

In some fashion, pet peeves such as these make you a human instead of a robot. I believe that achieving greatness is not conditional upon eliminating your faults but rather acknowledging and reconciling them all in your own (my case=particularly metaphoric) way.

P.s. Who decided to speak up and say yes, of course the things that really get your goat should be called pet peeves? I must have missed the part where the dog interrupted the guy who came up with the name and got mud on his pants or something. And where is my goat that is being had? I don't think I own a goat, even though right by my house there sometimes is a small goat eating grass alongside the road.

Alright, those jokes were feeble, feeble. The literal translation thing never really pays off the way you see it going in your head, does it? It's like the times when you're in a group and a funny joke is being dragged out, but then you come up with something to add on right when it's just stopped being funny and only get halfway through it before realizing that everything you say is going to create that really awkward silence where no one can think of anything to say. This is an experience with which I am familiar. I guess that makes sense, in the same vein that taking idioms literally never really works well.

I have no narrative today for the roaring masses that I'm sure are hungry for a life update. I can currently be found in Huntington, Indiana, at The New Huntington Theatre, singing Italian ditties and rehearsing my summer days away, which is not a particularly bad fate. Contrarily, I find it interesting to pause your life, like this feels, in order to work on your craft. It is conducive to extreme quantities of contemplation and determination and is successfully serving as an effective segue from all-thought no-hardwork Italia to no-time-for-thought all-hardwork New York.

A good middleground.