The damn thing is not coming. It rarely looks good when it does.
The damn thing disappoints.
The damn thing seems to not make any difference. Actually, seems like it’s making everything worse, let alone being worth the effort.
The damn thing is rude; never asks for no permissions or bother to speak or behave politely.
The damn thing is unpredictable like a motherfucker.
Sometimes you wish you were exaggerating but, time and time again, it shows you that this is the way it is.
But right when you think damn near every encounter brings the same emotions out of you, maybe you should say fuck it, it touches you so gently that it does not register. Then it holds you and soothes you, and you feel like it is everything to you. Sweet. The damn thing is inspiration. After many horrible experiences you are taught this one lesson (although some aren’t, sadly, tragically): you have to meet it halfway instead of waiting and asking around. You have to constantly show up, without expecting it to be there.