I'm Already A Prick Again

Just yesterday I was sitting in a waiting room sure I was doomed and promising myself and The Good Lord that if spared I would appreciate life, smell the roses, and keep things in perspective. 22 hours later I'm screaming at the asshole in front of me for driving too slow (in my defense he was driving too slow), what's wrong with me?

I don't think the elation of getting that commutation from the The Big Governor Upstairs lasted the entire drive home from the doctor's office before I was all wrapped up again in the dit-dit problems of everyday life: Oh, I have this deadline -- Who's calling me this time of night? -- I got to return this stupid library book -- dammit, we're out of milk. I should be prancing around tossing rose petals, and here I am grousing already about nonsense.

Maybe that's the beauty of it. As the only living creatures aware of our own mortality, maybe we're just designed not to dwell on it. Maybe that's what keeps us sane. I don't know... All I do know is that I loved getting the news I was okay. I loved that feeling. But I also know I was a better person when I thought I was doomed. Ask anyone.