It's not worth it
It’s not worth it
You’re in the airport at 5:34 am with a white dress shirt on and no backup. It’s early morning, so you’re delirious. You breeze through TSA and track down the first source of chemical nourishment you can find. The Golden Arches appear. With no other suitable option in sight, you order a sausage and egg McMuffin combo with a small coffee, 1 cream, and a hash brown.
As you consume your morning poison you ask yourself the first iteration of the same question which you ask yourself all too often. Was it worth it?
You’re hungry. The McDonald’s was there. You like Mcdonald’s. It was, by your quick assumption, worth it.
Hashbrown, gone. McMuffin, gone. Coffee, one more sip. The final sip of coffee is stuck in the inner junction between the paper cup and the plastic lid. It will not quite make it to your mouth upon normal sipping conventions. Possible design flaw? You, with only minor thought of the consequences, tip back the coffee about 170 degrees. The coffee rushes out. A minuscule amount lands on your white dress shirt. Not worth it.
You rush to the airport bathroom to hopefully wash it out. The crude luminous airport bathroom lights burn your retinas. You scrub the coffee out of your shirt. Only a small light brown spot remains on your otherwise flawless white dress shirt. You tell yourself that no one can see it unless they really look. But you know it’s there. You know it wasn’t worth it.
You’re now at your destination. By now you’re tired. The dopamine and glucose that your breakfast provided are gone. The fleeting, dreadful thought of the spot infects your consciousness.
Your breakfast and your accident are the microcosmic representation of the two biggest causes of self-inflicted pain. Do them less and your life will be a bit better.