There are times when, I admit it, I hate something. I very rarely hate a person, unless they’ve done some truly horrific thing to me or my loved ones.
No, what I’m referring to here is the hate I feel towards my own actions, or, rather, lack of same. In short, I am self-loathing again. (Feel free to stop reading now; this is basically the same shit you’ve already read).
*whistles while people wander away*
Still got some readers? Great.
I told my mother I would be by her house yesterday at around 1 pm, right? Well, I overslept and didn’t wake up until a quarter past 3. I’ve not been sleeping well, lately, and this in no small part, contributed to this over sleeping. (That, and in all honesty, I stayed up later than I wanted to, so I was pretty well frakked from the start).
That said, I get an angry email from her letting me know that she doesn’t appreciate me not coming by. All well and good. I deserve that, I think, since I did break our appointment and not call her until well past half four. I take my lumps when its my fault.
What I will not take, though, is that she, apparently, blames me for her former employees walking all over her. As if that is somehow my fault.
Background: She used to own a small café and it, basically, failed due to punishing small business taxes and an inept staff.
Now, I am to blame because I apologized to her for breaking our appointment and this dredged up old memories of her inability to manage her business? To quote Will Smith: “Aw HELL no!”
I hate it that I broke our appointment. I don’t like it when I cannot keep a commitment. I especially hate it when I break a commitment due to me over sleeping.
I’m not to blame for something I had no control over. I am to blame for missing the appointment. And that’s all the blame I’m going to take.