I am a lover, not a fighter, but on occasions have felt the need to own a gun. I thought about carrying it in my car for the sole purpose of using it to shoot out all the green traffic lights, that mock me by turning red as I approach. The Roman philosopher Seneca, spoke of such feelings of persecution by inanimate objects, just before his execution in AD 65. So it’s an age old condition and I’m in pretty good company.
Two thousand years later, the pencil falling on the floor is still an act designed to purposefully frustrate me. As enlightened and intelligent and reasoned as I am, these things still goad, tease and torment.
I curse the inanimate object, that taunts me daily and causes me to question all things, including the fairness of life.
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