Poisonous Molasses

People often feel extreme anxiety when they see somebody achieving personal growth, gaining insight into their lives, and rebelling against those who beat them down and tried to destroy them.

The anxiety is fed by the realization that they have passively accepted the role of a perennial victim and are not fighting back. And hey, everybody is entitled to their own life strategy. Want to be a nice, convenient doormat because it’s easier and feels so familiar? Knock yourself out.

What bugs me is when the passively accepting begin to hound those who do try to fight and grow, drowning them in megaliters of poisonous molasses.

“Let go of your anger for your own sake!” they implore. “It’s such a hard burden to remember and to keep scores! You’ll feel at peace once you let it go!”

What they forget to mention is that the peace they extol is that of a small child who has renounced all growth to stay convenient and malleable.

God only knows how much I detest the “just forgive and forget” narrative that is used to club people over the head the second they try to lift it and get some fresh air.

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The Male Beauty Quiz

So folks. Here is a really funny quiz that guesses your height and age based on the kind of guys you find attractive. It guessed my height perfectly but failed completely on the age. According to the quiz, I’m 28. I guess this is the age group that thinks Idris Elba, Gregory Peck and Robert Downey Jr are super attractive while Leonardo DiCaprio and George Clooney are hideous.

Money Talk

I already get $200 a month more on my paycheck because of the new tax bill and the consequent reduction in federal withdrawals. It’s the first “raise” I get in forever.

In the private sector, of course, it’s a lot better. N’s salary has grown by $35,000 since he started working at his company 7 years ago. (At his level, companies reward people who stick around.) I, on the other hand, got such a tiny bump with tenure that I barely noticed it.

Oatmeal Eaters

I always wondered who the strange people are who come to Panera and order oatmeal. And just sit there, eating their oatmeal. Don’t they have oatmeal at home? Can they possibly love oatmeal so much that they prefer it to all the wonderful things one can get at Panera? The egg souffles alone make this an attractive place to go. And the Mediterranean flatbreads! The cheese pastries! The fresh baguettes!

And now I know that these sad folks are gastrointestinal (or maybe heart) sufferers who want to feel like they still can go out and enjoy a cafe just like everybody else.

Klara was playing with her Play-Doh yesterday.

“You made a sausage!” I exclaimed. “This looks like a sausage!”

“I make a snake, mommy,” she explained. “This is a snake. Sssssssss!”

Too much oatmeal makes everything look like a sausage.