One animal that I am glad I am not is the fish. Their memory is almost to short to count as existent. I don't think my fish know anything. They don't even know it is time to be sleeping.
When I still lived at home in Cleburne I would get ridiculously irritated every time my step-dad did something that I disapproved of (i.e. go for the chips when he wasn't actually hungry, make junk for dinner, say something I didn't agree with in our morning prayer, etc. ad infinitum). I was the most bothered by his failure to successfully quit one bad habit that he had picked up from his days as a cowboy. He was a dipper. He quit once, and praised God for a few years. When his elderly mother's health began to deteriorate so much that he had to move her across Texas to be taken care of, he started dipping again. In my head I held that against him mercilessly. I was a terrible young girl sometimes. While at times I was lax to keep myself from poor conduct, I was sharp to take out my mental insults on other people's slip-ups. How I wish I were completely free from the plague of this sin. I can honestly declare that I do not practice such criticism in the degree that I once did. However, it is two in the morning and I am still up like my dumb fish considering how similar I am to my step-dad. I began a habit sometime this year that evolved into something sinful, like his addiction to dipping. When I kicked the habit I praised God in prayer and to my closest female companion. This blog is for the purpose of saying that I, too, have fallen back into the sin I once praised God for relieving me from. My accidentally-acquired post-modern approach to rules and convictions leaves me in a mud puddle of confusion when I try to decipher right and wrong behaviors, quite often. Sometimes I think I am on to a right approach to living, and then just like a fish, I quickly forget it in lieu of slow-sinking food pellets falling from the surface of the water, or a light that gets turned on in the middle of the night by a girl coming home past curfew.