A detachment from the strife of writing.  Thank God.

Last night at work Tavis, a bar regular, and I got into a discussion about forgiveness.  It started as I explained how I phoned my eye doctor's office to get refills on scrips for an irritated cornea due to overwearing contact lenses.  My doctor wasn't in, but his secretery (do we still call them that?) said she'd pass along my request.

It's here I told Tavis my doctor could either OK the refills assuming what he told me not to do I did; highly unprobable in this the age of law suits (is that how you spell it?).  Or...make me schedule an appointment to cover his ass legally and give me the, "I told you so".

That touched off the forgiveness thing.  Past eye doctors, I feel I'm a competent person.  I pay my bills on time, I show up for work, I'm an attentive listener, and assorted other qualities that would never get me a towel on an NBA bench, but do help keep this beautiful blue/green ball spinning.  Tavis felt the same way.  Why then does it feel when one of us falls from the purer faith we are not lifted up with forgiving arms, dusted off, hugged and sent to try again?

I'll say it again.  How come the fuck-ups get to fail and try, fail and try among the forgivers among us; but the dutiful and diligent get the, "You should know better" rage and warnings of, "Don't let this happen again"?  It seems to Tavis and me that the screw-ups, ne'er do wells, and idiots use up all the forgiveness leaving none of that precious emotional balm for the rest of us.  Why?

Why are the competent persecuted for their mistakes while the incompetent are given an endless stream of leg up programs, open arms, and shoulders to cry on?  What part of the body is left for us strivers and triers?  Middle finger spite and bird beak filled colons of disappointment?

By the way, my eye doctor left a long message on my machine chiding me about, "this problem four months ago, and I shouldn't be asking for refills if I'm not overwearing my lenses".  I made an appointment for Tuesday.