Writings in the Sand

Typign wid numb fingers

After nearly a quarter century on the internet, my hands are numb. Not from typing. From sitting on them, trying not to type. So many idiotic comments, so many people looking for a fight, so much anger and so much effort to refrain from responding.

I honestly don’t even care if they act this way because they are unhappy, insecure or just don’t have a life. Something deep down inside me at my most basic Viking DNA level wants to trample them, to stomp on their petty opinions, to gargle with the blood of my enemies. But I don’t.

I don’t because you can’t win a fight against an open wound. You might score a point, you might manage to pour a little lemon juice into it, maybe pick the scab and get it bleeding, but in the end you will be the one who suffers. Things get messy, and it’s hard to get those bloodstains off your soul.

But there’s a little lingering itch, like a mosquito bite that will flare up again if you accidentally scratch it. So the battle of conscience against instinct goes on and on. And the thought that haunts you is that the troll may think he has won because you didn’t hit back. That’s why forgiveness is almost always our last thought in these situations.

Because, we worry, this turning the other cheek business might look like running away.

Being the bigger person is not entirely satisfying. And, your hands get numb.