God knows how many megawatts of electricity I’ve wasted by keeping my trusty ca 1500’s computer on, while I’m seated snugly/smugly in front of it, my mind racing, fingers ready to detail stories and exploits – only to be mocked by the blank page and the incessantly twinkling cursor. Me thinks this inability to convert my measly daily routine into an engaging, witty, edge-of-your-seat-and-can’t-turn-the-page-while-you-join-me-in-my-quest-to-put-Stephen-King-out-of-business kind of read is one of His most cruel punishments for all the sins I’ve committed (punishment in the same league as probably me becoming allergic to spaghetti and chocolate. Excuse me for a while as I traipse towards the nearest confessional box).
(Three weeks, two days, 11 hours, 15 minutes, and 53.92 seconds later…)
This then begs the question (zoom in to the screen as the letters come a-blinking ala-Carrie Bradshaw’s): d-o-e-s G-o-d u-s-e m-o-r-a-l-i-t-y m-a-t-h-e-m-a-t-i-c-s? (huuuwaaaaaaaaat?!) Simply put: is there a sin-to-atonement-slash-punishment ratio?
Is getting splattered with dirty floodwater early in the morning while one is on his way to school enough retribution for jerking off the night before? Is getting caught in torrential rain an equivalent punishment for lying about your whereabouts when your mom texted you why you were still out of the house some four hours after you were supposed to be home? Is it an eye-for-an-eye if you get mugged several hours after you exhibit an uncalled-for meanness to your building’s security guards?
These seemingly unconnected chain of events, while totally avoidable, do happen. Have happened. Can happen. Will happen. Are they God’s ways of evening things out? Are they cleansing mechanisms by which all is made right again and the balance restored? If so, does He have a conversion table of sin-to-punishment-slash-atonement? Or are these events mere whims of fate that will strike us regardless of our purity or vileness?
So many times I have predicted dire outcomes after I have been, well, a bad boy. Either I will not get to school on time or I will flunk an exam or I will slip and slide over a newly mopped floor in front of the whole student body. Almost always my worst fears come true.
”Almost” being the operative word.
Which gets me confused. Let’s say I have been terribly evil to a grammatically-challenged colleague a day before a major presentation, and yet good things still happen to me. All traffic lights are green and go so I need not careen as I cross intersections. The beadle checks the attendance thirty minutes later than usual. I get good marks for my presentation. No punishment for you this time! Pushing my luck further, I taunt my colleague some more and cackle at his tinnitus-inducing monologues – which “somehow” results to me failing miserably in a quiz or getting the last, most disgusting morsel of free food in our mess hall just when I’m so hungry and so broke.
And there are times, as if to befuddle you further, you do your damnest best to bite your tongue when you’re about to blurt out a Class A fib or lash out at your mom – only to be part of a series of unfortunate episodes, enough to make you (un)lucky enough to land a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the best (or worst) personification of Murphy’s Law.
What’s a guy to do?! Damned if you, damned if you don’t!
And after having indulged in movies like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and A Tale of Two Sisters for two straight Sundays, I was ready for a “cinematic resurrection” that will leave me, as the Olympic ads go, celebrating humanity.