I believe in God. I don’t believe that my instincts are right more than 50% of the time. I believe that I’m an addict to sex, love, fantasy, and co-dependent relationships. If I follow my own will, I’m lost.
I love money in the bank.
I hate dangerous conscience-less people, those who don’t consider the effect of their behavior on others, those old ladies in Pico-Robertson who push their shopping carts into the street without mind of the obstacles they’re placing to the traffic, addicts who won’t get help, ungrateful people, those who don’t see themselves, those who edge their car into your lane, forcing you to stop and backing up traffic behind you just so they can get a good look, rageaholics, absent parents unconcerned about the welfare of those they brought into the world, those so focused on the next world that they don’t enjoy this one, those who think happiness is unimportant, those who’d prefer to blame others than to work on themselves with a therapist or 12-step group, those lost in resentment they can’t see their own role in their misery, all the losers who attach themselves to me because they think I’m one of them, those who need constant reassurance, unfaithful partners, manipulative girlfriends who make you call them twice for every time they deign to return your call, those with bad credit scores, bludgers, those who take welfare, unemployment, disability and food stamps when they’re able-bodied, drug users, heavy drinkers, those who blast loud music, those who wear their pants down their butts, tattoos, terrorists…
