In Which Our Narrator Doesn’t Get Nuked

Yesterday was one of those days where everything seemed calculated to tick me off. Not that there was an increase in the average number of petty annoyances, just in my willingness to take it all personally.

Then it occurred to me: I didn’t get nuked Monday. Fancy that.

Finding something like that on the Internets (see, FBI? I’m a good American) leads to two reactions: the first is humorous, at the sheer outrageousness of the claim. The second is smaller, a self-doubting game of what-if, which leads to a deeper game of self-mockery for even entertaining for the briefest of moments that the nutjob knows some speckle of truth. Oh, but your inner opponent is a wiley one, isn’t he? He keeps bringing up the spectres of 9/11 and the Murrow Building. “Those seemed outrageous too, no?”

My Inner Opponent is a big cheater-head.

Though, really, he didn’t play the biggest card in the deck. Sadly, it was I who played it: “Okay, so you spent a year trying to get your mortgage re-financed, right? A year in which you found out it wasn’t as easy as the commercials make it look, especially if you’re self-employed. But you finally got it done, right? It takes effect next month, right?

“So that’s it. You’re going to get nuked.”

That’s the sort of reasoning a very long period of bad breaks engenders. Really though, I’ve been getting a bunch of good breaks lately, but old habits die hard, and the habit of constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering where the next dagger is coming from – that’s one of the hardest to break.

But I didn’t get nuked Monday. That helped.