A couple of weeks ago I asked an associate to pick me up me a cup of coffee when he went out for an afternoon break. He did. Since I take cream and sugar in my coffee, I looked all over the church for some form of sugar to put in it, and couldn’t find any anywhere. Even though there were at least three people who could have helped solve the problem, I didn’t ask for help. I just poured out the coffee. It felt better to feel sorry for myself than it did to solve the problem.
Self-pity stinks.
I wish I could tell you that this was the first time I had ever felt sorry for myself, but I’m sure you’d know better. Truth is, at times I’m something of an artist at it. Given the right mood, the right circumstances, and just the right amount of self-absorption, I can not only feel sorry for myself, I can influence you to do something to “make” me feel that way.
Like the time in Mrs. Trimble’s class in fourth grade when I kept whining and crying, “Nobody likes me. Nobody!” [click to continue…]
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