Sensitive

Today if you touch me, I bleed. If my skin were any thinner, it would probably simply sublimate from my body. As it is, my nerves are exposed, and motes of dust set off pain as though I’d been hit with a hammer.

I am tired of the endless debate on what the U.S.’s response to September 11th should be.

I am tired of being pigeon-holed by some European acquaintences who attack positive comments about the US as generalizations, and then procede to make negative generalizations.

I am tired of people regurgitating text without attributing the source, presenting it as though it were their own writings, while never once bothering to put their own thoughts into words other than to stoop to name calling.

I am tired of people telling me that it is never right to go to war, it is never right to kill another person, it is never right to have a death penalty. There are no “nevers” in the human condition.

I am heartsick that my single bolthole on the web that I have come to view as my asylum from the storms of life and my sanctuary where I can be safe among friends is no longer either asylum nor sanctuary.

I’ve lost patience with those that say that we should back off and try to negotiate with the terrorists rather than fight them, and I’ve lost patience with those that say bomb every terrorist known to our government, because even if they didn’t have a hand in the World Trade Center they did something sometime, somewhere.

I resent having my work ethic called into question as a “joke” by someone who gets six weeks of vacation a year, innumerable additional days off work due to European “holidays” and has work days so short that the sun is up the entire work day, even in the winter.

And if I have to wash the knives, forks, spoons, glasses and cooking utensils one more time tonight and then listen to somebody justify it because at least he cleaned “85% of the dishes”, I swear to God I’ll cook his dinner 85% of the way to done, then turn off the stove and go out to eat by myself.