Other People Suck As Much As You Do

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There’s a phrase used to designate the awareness that everyone around you has a life as rich and nuanced as your own, (or depraved and nuanced, whichever). Mostly its usage is restricted to the foreground of a shitty tumblr post, followed by brilliant commentary such as “THIS!” and “what a beautiful word.” I especially like to consider this in the context of authority figures, and those whom I dislike generally, (which consists of the same people, really). 
I take a certain joy in knowing that the people who have caused me misery might have a papercut, or an inexplicable pain in the knee, or an unending slight fatigue. Unfortunately, it occurs to me in such musings that these people might have truly sad problems, like soggy breakfast cereal, or room temperature coffee, and that humanizes them in my eyes. Suddenly I find myself with sympathy for them in their journey through this cruel world. 
Then, one’s memory returns to the sorts of administrative sternness that comes to engineers like a hangover: all at once,  too early in the morning, and harsh. There is a painful throb that accompanies a morning Woodhouse, lecturing several hundred first years, most of whom had nothing at all to do with whatever stupid incident a brilliant few came up with under the influence of being more familiar with drinking than consequences. 
Memory is hard to untangle from associations with people, and often one must make the effort to stay aware of the fact that they remember things differently. For example, you may remember the pain in your hands, when you should be remembering the joy of knowing that somebody’s face presumably hurts much more. And really, that is the only way to live your life–living vicariously through your friends–and gleefully pondering the minor suffering of your enemies.  
 

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