The stranger in front of you

The guy in front of me at the drive-thru paid for my fast food meal and passed along a little note about the idea coming from some radio station (Star 93.3)

And apparently I’m supposed to be grateful and inspired. But I live in Trump/Republican country (upwards of 75% of voters vote Republican), so it’s safe to assume there’s a significant chance that if this Christian stranger votes, he or she votes for slashing public welfare programs and endorses views like “people need to take responsibility”.

I CAN pay for my poisonous garbage food. As Andy Samberg sings in “Threw It on the Ground”: ““Man, what’d I look like? A charity case?”
I took it and threw it on the ground
I don’t need your hand-outs
I’m an adult
Please, you can’t buy me hotdog man

So, in summary, I feel like have been used by some self-righteous jackass Christian who feels better about themselves by making me a charity case. I’m not buying into that religious nonsense about helping out other people who have enough money to afford cars by buying $10 worth of food. There are so many people who need so many different kinds of help, but you’d have to have a relationship and listen to actually help them with what they need. That’s the kind of help people do appreciate.

You know, this shit doesn’t happen in California. No weirdo has bought my food for me at In-N-Out.

I still ate it, because I am not wasteful. But really just because I didn’t remember “Threw It on the Ground” until halfway through my meal.

Something Broken

My heart might be broken.

I cry sometimes.   I have been sad for a long time.  More than a year, more than two or three.  For a very long time, I have been very sad.

So there are times when kindness I witness or experience causes me to cry.  Friendly words, strangers’ smiles, and much needed hugs from acquaintances all bring tears to my eyes that spill down the cheeks of my face and drop off of my jawline.

Wondering why unwarranted kindness makes me cry.  The most beautiful thing: generous love, kindness to strangers, undeserved and unreserved affection – the world made better by people giving their best to someone else merely crossing their path by chance.

And it hurts me enough to make me cry.  It aches.  Worst than bruises or a swollen head, this kindness -this thing called love – makes some crack in me that gushes out pain and the symptom is a torrent of tears.

Maybe I have a stone heart.  It would make sense.  I don’t have hope, don’t want a reason to keep breathing for more than a few tomorrows.  I want to give up on futures, let go of hope.  Let go of myself because I can’t stand the hurt I endured by refusing to let go until now.

If kindness reaches in, it will make cracks in this stone heart of mine.  But even with a stone heart, I can still feel the pain.  Wondering why there is this queer pain, perhaps there is still a heart of flesh and blood underneath.   Maybe my heart’s hardness is just an exterior of stone.  And if kindness comes inside and the stone is broken apart, my heart will begin to pump hope and love into my life once more.