I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
This raises an interesting question within my Articles of Faith [...]
There are several things that I'm simply not good at. Saying No, being right up there near the top. But, I also have other, more lasting, character flaws, that I'm afraid err on the side of my being "too good at." It's true. But, no worries, I'm not perfect. For instance, I have a cowlick. No, what I'm referring to is my "curse." I have one. (I probably have more than one, but I have one that is simply prevalent, at all costs, regardless of any personal demographic). I never forget an injustice. Ever. As a matter of awkward fact, I could go for years without seeing...
If you don't want to bleed for it, don't put it in your blood.
I had a terrifying thought, this morning, on the way to work: I'm afraid I might be a duplicitous man. Duplicitous. I used to think that described a man who had lots of love affairs. Would that it were true. But, driving out to campus, I really questioned what I, up until this morning, had believed was my emotional and physical elasticity when in the face of any crisis. Now, I wonder: what if all I've done is misunderstood what I thought was others' general defection of accountability because I'd mislabeled it in my own life? I hate this thought. I've hated it all...
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