Friday, January 29, 2016

Fear of me.

Someone once told me, "You remind me of one of those guys that when you ask him how he is, he says 'fine', and then he goes out and kills people." Then he laughed.

Someone else once asked me why I'm always writing in the little notebook I carry around with me. Because I consider myself to be a writer, I sometimes jot down story ideas when they occur to me. Other times I like to make lists of things I need to do later. But apparently the first thing that occurred to this other person was that I was making a hit list.

I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. I'm an introvert, who keeps to himself, and who isn't terribly good at making friends. But I didn't think everyone thought I might suddenly snap, or that I was already snapped.

Sometimes I'm afraid that those people are right about me, that I'm not just a failure, but that I'm actually an evil man. How much pressure would it take for me to snap? What if I suddenly flipped and started killing people?

That's another reason I believe in gun control. I don't trust anyone to own one. Anyone could snap like that. All it takes is too much anger and not enough love.

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