Spite

Every now and then, when I see my old roommate, I want to go up to her and be spiteful. I want to tell her that my life is so much better since I left her, and that I am more beautiful than I ever was when I lived with her, and that I am stronger and more intelligent and greater than my past.

I stop and shut my eyes and let the temptation fade. I make it leave me. I probably am a better person than I was two years ago, however one measures these things, but I am better for myself, not so that I can rub it in her face.

I think the tiresome arguments, of which I have written here, and some of my spitefulness comes from a combination of PMS and lack of prozac for several weeks. Since I should be bleeding soon, right on schedule, and I have started up with the gelatin pills that stick in my throat again, I should be fine in a few weeks.

Things have been going my way. I get what I want. I have nothing refused to me. I don't know how to deal with this. Why is it that when my plans work out I am so unhappy? Why should I complain, when there are a legion of people stuck in lives that are unfulfilling, and not at all what they planned or want?

I have been given gifts but I have been a poor, poor receiver. It isn't all the chemicals, or hormones, it's something else. I don't want to develop a nasty sense of entitlement, that the world should be given me on a silver platter, so I worry about these things.

I need to stop and let it fade, and it will go away and I will be left alone.

What are the odds that I was born myself? Why was I born into a family that wants for nothing? What odds. Why was I born into a charmed life, one where there will never be any hurt or hunger, when the legion of poor are abroad, and just around the corner? What are the odds that I have never been refused?

2002-09-19, Gifts

before / after

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