|Ana B Designs|
Hell is other people. People like those heinous May Day protesters yesterday who wrought havoc on beautiful downtown Seattle. No matter how much of a self-aggrieved ne'er-do-well loser you are, nothing gives you the right to assault private property. Nothing. Idiots.
Hell is other people. People like the guy who stole the check from my mailbox last week and then washed it and wrote a $250 debit to my checking account, causing me no end of grief in closing that account and opening a new one and all the attendant tsuris of that.
Hell is other people. People like the guy who hacked my credit card number off the Internet in March. Then, this gem of a fellow made some delightful charges to the thousands. Thank goodness Citibank has a vigilant fraud department and a kind and understanding group of people to help. So, hell is not those nice Citibank people. Take that 99%!
Hell is other people. People like a certain neighbor who came over to bitch about our needles and leaves getting into her yard. These come from trees that do not in any way hang onto her property. What does she expect me to do about this? Everybody in this Evergreen State has neighbors' and neighborhood trees depositing foliage into their domain. Flicka says she was trying to get me to agree to go do her yard work for her. No way, Jose.
Hell is other people. People like the Compassion International "child" I sponsor, who turned 21 in March and is still on the program. When I was 21, I had already lived away from home on my own for 3 years and was working full time and paying my own college tuition. What gives? All right, so a young lady in Ethiopia cannot really be hell for me. How about heck?
But God is good, even though we people are so bad -- and I the worst offender of all. And He has given me wonderful friendships with far better people than I in whom I find more than a glimpse of heaven. So I am blessed. And I'm going to keep repeating that to myself until it pierces my soul and drives me again to my knees with repentance and gratitude. In the middle time, though, you will find me in the phone book under Thrope, Miss Anne.