Thursday, January 18, 2007

Loathe, Abhor, Detest, Hate

I really hate making mistakes. I tend to think that I hate it even more than most people do, but maybe that's not true. I know that the most healthy thing to do with mistakes that I've made is to learn from them and to value their experience, and I try to do that, but every once and a while I falter. Just every so often, my memory prods me of its own accord and reminds me of something foolish that I've done or said, be it a huge catastrophe or a minor foible. Whenever that happens, I can't help but mutter, "I hate you," to myself before I can even catch myself or move on--sometimes out loud. Every time this happens I can't help but be shocked at myself--especially when it is over something small that no one remembers anymore but me or something that went wrong but I played off well.

Why such an aversion to my less-than-shining moments? Why such disdain at myself for the moments that have taught me and to whatever extent made me?

But worse is that I never seem to learn from this particular mistake as I keep making it. The best I can manage is to try to smooth it over again after it happens placing a soft hand on the cheek of my inner self and the assurance that it is, in fact, love that I feel for the one to whom I express it the least.

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