Retired from fandom. Again. See you Saturday.
'I'm done. No — I'm actually done this time. I don't care anymore. I'm not watching the next one. Don't send me anything.' You will be watching the next one. You will send the first message about it yourself, possibly with a lineup opinion. The Eye keeps your retirement records, and the file is thick: you've quit this team eleven times. You've quit your job four times, in your head, with a speech. You've left three group chats with a statement and rejoined two of them within the week, no statement. The quitting is real — for about ninety minutes. And the Eye understands the machine, because it's a beautiful machine: rage-quitting is the only spell you know that converts hurt into power. Staying hurt feels like lying on the pitch while the game runs over you. Leaving first, loudly, with the door cracking off its hinges — that's authorship. That's you deciding the ending instead of the ending deciding you. The problem is distribution: everyone has learned that your exits come with a return policy. Which means the one day you mean it — and the Eye hopes that day stays hypothetical — nobody will hear it.
Get your read — free on iPhonethe quitting is the only spell you know that turns hurt into power. the eye knows why you always come back.