I was an asshole today. Nothing major, but still: an asshole.
I generally try not to be an asshole, but, as happened today, I often fail. And I don’t write about these failures because they are shameful; being an asshole is shameful.
Sometimes I can go back and apologize, which, while not erasing the assholery itself, can mitigate its effects. Sometimes, however, I miss the chance, or I think I’m right and I think I’m right and then the twinge and then the shame and then. . . too late.
So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being an asshole.
I’ll try harder not to be an asshole, but I know I’ll fail. And sometimes I’ll apologize and sometimes I won’t—sometimes because I won’t recognize that I’ve just been an asshole and sometimes because I don’t want to admit that I’ve just been an asshole.
Which is pretty much the definition of an asshole.
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