What rules were meant for
A brief scanning of the decade past is all it really takes to locate my infidelities in the face of prior convictions. Don't eat meat, don't shave for somebody else, coffee addiction is tragic, don't enable or live with smokers, mouse traps are mean, vengeance is petty, sausage smells, get out of poor countries, don't jump through trivial hoops for academic or career advancement, perfume is suspect (like in Batman), gambling is for people who are either losers or bad at math, if you're not blissfully happy you're doing something wrong, pets are usually a bad idea... I've (historically) experienced this noise that gives rise to these rules that inevitably contradict my mellow and probably eclipse my forming identity. (That's right, in America, you get to develop your identity at any old age.) I recognize that having no rules creates monsters that no one wants to be around, but so does robotically following the plethora you've populated your already complex life with. I wasn't intentionally squirming my way out of previous trappings, but it sure feels good to crawl around in a new space with bigger, more meaningful rules, and nibbling the occasional chorizo with my breakfast dark roast. My latest infraction involves trusting a beautiful smoker's taste in animals and somehow landing a cuddly little cat. Now because my previous rule was "No cats, like, ever" I've needed to seriously rewire the directions of my affection, and though I'm no Lennie, my awkward attempts at feline paw reflexology have resulted in the occassional superficial scratch. I assume this is just a little retribution for selling out to something resembling happiness, for breaking a few rules here and there.