a lesson in humility

And so it begins anew:

Hatred bubbles in me, a boiling, curdling sort of hatred that is black as tar, black as midnight. Here is an invisible lesion that festers, oozing the pus of madness, blistering with anger and frustration. I long to find an easy escape, to stab the center to relieve the pressure. It would be all too easy to lash out, to use words that sting more than these emotional nettles that plague me.

I am reminded all too often to take the path less travelled, to walk in the sandals of Jesus or to "be the bigger man." My desktop tells me that the only answer is love, God appears to me in my dreams only to say I must use my heart and not my head, and my only love tells me to love even when I don't feel loved. It is so easy to say it and so difficult to carry out.

I start arguments with bubble tea owners over the intrinsic value of offering a napkin. I mouth off employees of AHS when they berate me for going for a second helping at the free pancake breakfast. If Mag is impatient with me for being dense or stupid or forgetful, I am immediately incensed, raise my voice, and take on a condescending tone. I yell at movie theatre employees and managers even when they are being perfectly nice to me and are following all the rules and regulations they outline in their workplace policy.

If I attempt to be so good, to come to a full stop at red lights even at 2 AM with no cars around, to hold open the door for anyone and everyone no matter how far away they are, to not take advantage of a situation for its utility, I am suddenly faced with the embarassment of the human condition, that I am so mortally full of sin that sometimes I wonder what it even means to try. But such is the battle, and if we give up hope then we are no more than the evil which intends to consume us.

And so I am reminded not to think that I am anything more than an animated sack of water with a handful of mineral thrown in who has been given a world of opportunity by God.