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Re-visiting an older micro-fiction piece.

Senczyszak.com

day of origin_ (2)
D  a  y     o  f      O  r  i  g  i  n

What began as an oddity, morphed into reality. Fueled by media frenzy, the phenomenon grew exponentially. Within days, revelations of oblivion amassed.

And this time, the world was listening.

My name is Richard Elston. And everyone I know is dead.

March, three years past it began. Six thousand people across North America died within a twenty-four hour period, reasons unexplained. Not so unusual, until you factor in one peculiar anomaly. All six thousand of them died on their birthday.

It got better.

The following day, over half a million people across three continents expired, on their day of origin.

Medical intervention proved futile. The dying would not be deterred.

Mass chaos ensued. Governments did little. While theorists theorized, the death rate magnified.

By the seventh day, obliteration hit overdrive. Fifteen million people perished, despite their birthday…

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The Eeyore Syndrome

I’m still holding a spot… at the nerd table. Care to join me?

Senczyszak.com

eeyore_self_deprecationSelf-deprecation is a personal trait I hold in high regard.

I’m not talking ‘Eeyore level’ self-deprecation, that perpetual deluge of negative commentary that borders on the psychotic. I’m referring to some old-fashioned unpretentious self-criticism, a few good-natured ribs; in other words, some genuine, unadulterated, anti-extroverted behavior. I find the attribute an admirable quality in others, an attractive idiosyncrasy that exudes sincerity and draws me in like a magnet.

self_deprecatingDespite society’s infatuation with self-assured confidence peddlers, self-deprecation—in metered doses, emits an aura of genuineness. It becomes a calling card of modesty, denoting an individual grounded in reality, unobtrusive and approachable. Self-deprecators, like insatiable introverts, prefer the solitude of shadow, avoiding the spotlight, until the stars align and the time is right. Then step back, and watch the magic unravel.

When it’s time to arrange the seating list, sit me at the table with the introverts and self-deprecators—away from the power socialites…

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Empty Bucket List

Bucket list, shmucket list.

Senczyszak.com

chumbucketWe’re all familiar with the phrase ‘kicking the bucket’, a euphemism, presumably derived during an era where staging one’s own demise was accomplished by standing on a bucket, securing a noose, and kicking away.  Goodbye cruel world.

And to the credit of modern society, we’ve managed to travel further down the morbid path of introspection by altering, for the sake of brevity and hapless wit, an already grim concept.

Bucket List.

The fact that this expression is so widely overused is in itself an irritant of significant proportions.  I can no longer acknowledge the term, nor can I feign the slightest bit of interest when the topic is broached.  Monotony, repetition, pie-in-the-sky generalities have combined to successfully dilute the concept into another bland cliché that’s lost all meaning and significance.

“That’s going on my bucket list.”

Fantastic, but I’m not interested.

Regardless if it’s paragliding in Costa Rica, retracing…

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