I have a subconscious list of rules for how reality should work. I did not develop these rules on purpose, and most of them don’t make sense—which is disturbing when you consider that they are an attempt to govern the behavior of reality—but they exist, and they play a large role in determining how I react to the things that happen to me. Large enough that a majority of the feelings I feel are simply a reaction to reality not complying with my arbitrary set of rules.

Reality doesn’t give a shit about my rules, and this upsets me. Not to a great degree. Not even to an obvious degree. But when reality disobeys my rules, detectable levels of surprise, disappointment, and frustration are produced.

And to me, it feels perfectly logical to be feeling those things. But if someone were to observe me in my natural environment—having all the thoughts and feelings my natural environment causes me to have—I would seem much less logical. In fact, I might seem sort of like a wild animal trying to adapt to an alternate reality that it somehow became trapped in.

But there’s a definite pattern to these illogical internal reactions, and, theoretically, over weeks and months, a dedicated outside observer could piece together a crude understanding of my rules and the ways in which I attempt to impose them upon reality.

I seem to spend a lot of time being mildly disappointed by things that aren’t actually disappointing. They appear disappointing, though, because I’m constantly trying to be impressed or surprised by everything. I get a rush from encountering unexpectedly exceptional things. Even if I hate the thing, I still get a rush from discovering that it’s exceptionally bad. I could be injured and bleeding, but if I were bleeding a surprising amount, I would feel sort of excited about it.

I love the feeling of being impressed so much that I actively seek it out. When something seems like it might be surprising and then isn’t, I feel tricked. Like the thing led me on and made me think I was going to be surprised, and then, at the last second, it revoked its promise.

The expectation of surprise isn’t even necessary to create disappointment, though. Sometimes all that needs to happen is that I expect something—anything, really—and then that thing doesn’t happen.

Reality should follow through on what I think it is going to do. It doesn’t matter that I have no vested interest in the outcome aside from expecting it to happen. It’s the principle of the matter.

Sometimes expectations arise as a result of an oversight on my part. But when there’s a snag in my plans because I failed to account for something, it still feels like reality’s fault. Reality should know about my plans. It should know when I’m not expecting to deal with the unexpected, even if it isn’t very unexpected.

I don’t like being inconvenienced, and I especially don’t like being inconvenienced too many times in a row. If something I don’t like happens, then several more things that I don’t like happen directly afterward, that is too many. They shouldn’t cluster like that.

Unfortunately, that’s just how probability works.

I am incensed that reality has the audacity to do some of the things it does when I CLEARLY don’t want those things to happen.

It feels unfair when the other things in the world refuse to be governed by my justice system.

To be fair, though, my concept of “fairness” is sort of questionable and not based on the way reality actually works.

When something feels unfair, there’s an implication that an equal and opposite fair thing could have happened instead.

But my rules don’t account for that. I just make them up and expect them to be followed without considering how that is supposed to work.

I make up new rules all the time.

I don’t even know about some of them until they are broken.

My rules are inconsistent and weirdly specific, but it’s still disconcerting for me when I have to watch as the other things in the world break them.

I don’t like when I can’t control what reality is doing. Which is unfortunate because reality works independently of the things I want, and I have only a limited number of ways to influence it, none of which are guaranteed to work.

I still want to keep tabs on reality, though. Just in case it tries to do anything sneaky. It makes me feel like I’m contributing. The illusion of control makes the helplessness seem more palatable. And when that illusion is taken away, I panic.

Because, deep down, I know how pointless and helpless I am, and it scares me. I am an animal trapped in a horrifying, lawless environment, and I have no idea what it’s going to do to me. It just DOES it to me.

I cope with that the best way I know—by being completely unreasonable and trying to force everything else in the world to obey me and do all the nonsensical things I want.

And I am embarrassed by how silly I look while I am unsuccessfully attempting to enact justice. It makes me feel ridiculous—like maybe I’m not actually very powerful.

I’m glad there’s no one else to witness me in these moments because I know what I am and I know what I’m trying to do, and that is shameful enough. I would be horrified to discover that someone was observing me with the intention of learning about my silly rules, and further observation would become very challenging because of all the fleeing and hiding.

And this is possibly the most humiliating thing of all. That I am so embarrassed about how embarrassing I am. As if I’ve got some sort of dignity to protect. Because I am a serious, dignified person. And I don’t want anyone to know I’m not.