P. Spective

it's so funny how certain things can be such comforts. i sometimes find myself enjoying the comfort of doing something then i instantly ruin it by stressing out about what it says about who i am as a person that i would find such complete joy in certain things. what's even more stressful is the inverse; why do i need such things to feel comfort from a world that i should be boldly embracing? i am sitting in dave's coffee shop and he hooked me up with some free internet time, a panini, an iced coffee and some kettle potato chips. i am writting a blog. i feel like what i am wearing looks pretty sweet (or at least i am comfortable in it) i have today's tips from work (which were exceptional today) tucked in my pocket ready to buy whatever little trinket or snack i desire on the instant that i want it if i feel that i will be happy with the purchase (even though i haven't paid my phone bill in two months now)
today a lady came into my work to buy a few coffees and she was probably around fifty years old. she looked as though she went around her house that morning and took everything that she could find that was brightly colored and attatched it to herself. she was very very sweet and seemed to be pretty happy with life and so willing to share that with others. she hit me hard right away with a smile so sweet that i almost had a heart attack from the joy of seeing a trully kind and happy person. i think i may have forgotten where i was and just sat there for a few moments dazed and staring at her with a big stupid grin on. eventually i took her order and had to steady my voice so that i didn't start screaming from the lack of control her happiness had rendered my body. anyways, this is getting silly, when it was time for her to pay she whipped out this black card. i didn't look at it too hard and just took it from her. the second it was in my hand i noticed that it was all metal and was much heavier than normal credit cards. it was one of those black american express cards. the ones they only give to people like P diddy or santa claus or satan. i was like 'oh dang this lady is in the green house!' she left me a tip that was the same amount as all the coffees she bought. for some reason she had left such an impression on me that all day i started day dreaming about what i would do if i had money like she probably had. comfort. that's the thing. i know now after twenty six years of being, for the most part, broke that God probably never intends for me to be filthy rich. i think that i sometimes want it too much. i would not become like that sweet old lady who will sit and talk to anyone and genuinely be interested and happy to meet them. i would become a prick and want to glorify everything that i find comfort in. and that is where it all starts to make sense.