A certain word comes to mind in situations like this: FUCK.
Granted, this FUCK doesn't have the same shade of meaning as the various other incarnations of FUCK, but it's somewhere between stubbing your toe after realizing you missed your little brother's spring choir concert solo and your parents discovering you took the car when you weren't supposed to because you wanted to celebrate New Years Eve the right way even though you were seventeen.
What immediately entered my mind was, beyond the mild fuckery of the situation, was shame. Primarily, shame because my aunt spent $1,500 to get me this vehicle. Shame because it was such a silly mistake. Shame because my lack of common sense gets me into trouble on a routine basis and I don't have enough common sense to try and change it. Shame because I'm on twelve month probation for a misdemeanor drug charge in Oklahoma and being forced to comply with monthly random UA's while living in Colorado, where marijuana is legal.
All in all, I'm pretty shameful. But regret is something I don't believe in, like decaf coffee or a clean permanent record. And no matter how hard I try, I'm going to fuck things up. Not because I want to (honestly) or because I don't care but because I'm human. More importantly, though, because I'm 23. I still feel like a teenager living in the basement of his aunt's house! As much as I hate to admit it, I like to play the victim. I was raised the baby. I was babied pretty much until I got arrested in college and my family realized little Lukey-daw wasn't so little anymore. I guess I've adopted a shameful attitude. What can I say? I was a churchgoer for most of junior high and high school.
Stress requires no action. Stress requires no action. Stress requires no action...
No one is holding a moral compass near my ass every time I fart. Failed a drug test? So what. Fix it. Make it right. Someone doesn't exchange witty banter with you at work? Who cares. Move on. Right or wrong are so subjective that, in my opinion, they have little bearing on 98% of daily living. It would seem that the mundane is more like the amoral. Just boring business; not good, not bad.
The truth is, I want to be little Lukey-daw forever. In my heart, I know I'll always be the baby whose bottom lip begins to quiver when he gets in trouble for being too rough with the kitty or knocking a drink off the table. What's important now is that I realize that's part of who I am and just accept it instead of getting upset every time I do indeed knock the drink off the table or hurt the kitty on accident. There's no shame in it.
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