On and Off the Wagon

I have an addiction problem, but it’s not what you think. (Well, except for the chocolate.)  I’m addicted to getting my way. Whatever I like, whenever I like. Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me. From what I understand from other people, it’s just like being an alcoholic.

And it’s not good. I don’t just mean from a Christian point of view, although that’s certainly a valid one. I mean, from a basic human decency point of view. It’s just not going to happen, and I better get over it.

For a while, I toyed with the idea that it was about money, or my lack thereof. While I could certainly get my way more often if I had more money, it’s obvious that even Donald Trump doesn’t get his way a shocking amount of the time. (Seriously. Have you ever seen a grown man who acts more like a toddler who has just been told that he may not have all the toys.) No money isn’t it at all.

It’s more like arrogance. (On second thought, maybe it is like Donald Trump.) I guess I have a basic assumption that I’m a smart person, and that I have good ideas. So, when I have a good idea (which is, let’s face it, at least a few times a day), I expect people (or at least myself) to jump. High. Now.

Exactly.

That’s not happening.

And it’s really not because my ideas are, contrary to my opinion, bad. It’s because of my other addiction: sloth. I am such a physical slacker. I could give you a thousand reasons why, but they would all be excuses. I mean, it’s so overcast.