A Taste of My Own Meds

Every now and again, I find myself getting a taste of my own medicine. Nothing big, just little things here and there that keep me on my toes. Now, you'd think that these moments of recognition would make me repentant. After all, I'm feeling essentially the same feelings that my behavior inflicts on others, which should open my eyes and make me a better person.

But, as you might have expected, considering my rather suggestive lead-in, this isn't exactly what happens.

Let's just say that, hypothetically, I am not very good at texting in general, but I'm pretty bad about texting back. It's not always intentional. Sometimes I just get distracted, think I've responded, and forget, or I delete the text and forget to respond to it. You know how it goes! There are all kinds of things that can happen that prevent me from texting back in a timely fashion! Whatever. It's not a big deal. Anyways, we're going to move ahead with this hypothetical situation and  say that I got a text that started a conversation that, hypothetically, I had been rather hoping would start, and that I had actually been planning on starting myself, except for the part that I hadn't done it yet (because, ya know, bad at texting).

Let us suppose that this hypothetical conversation was going pretty well for a few texts. Pretty normal, just chill ... And then SMACK--it collides with the no-text-back-brick-wall in glorious slow-motion. Let's say, hypothetically, that for once, it's not me who has failed to text back. Rather, I'm the one who ends up with my unsuspecting face slowly being smeared all over this little wall we've got going on.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a second! Hold your horses! You should know that I am not--absolutely NOT-- hypothetically strung out over this hypothetical conversation. I am by no means hypothetically smeared over anything. If this hypothetical situation were actually my real life, my feelings would be nowhere near that dramatic. But I'm really running in the opposite direction of my ultimate point here (which, in case you hadn't noticed, seems to happen to every single blog post I write. I swear, this thing should have a subheading, "DANGER: TANGENTIAL WATERS AHEAD!" or "The Long and Extremely Indirect Run Leading to an Only Mildly Comical and Frankly Rather Stupid Slide" ... and now I've tangented from my tangent ... Oh my land ... ).

Let's get back on the pony, shall we? Just so I can finally make this one stupid point I'm trying to make.

And that is this:
(if you're from Colorado Springs, you just read this is Bish. P's voice...)

As a bad texter-backer, hypothetical situations like these in which I don't get texted back in a timely fashion should be inspirations for reform, repentance, and recovery from my unfortunate plight. But that's not what happens. Nope, not at all. When I get a taste of my own meds, like this hypothetical texting situation, I don't find myself repentant at all. Nay, I find myself thinking, "Wow! This actually works!" 


And instead of being cheesed about the whole dang hypothetical thang, I'm proud and impressed, both with myself, and the party who happens to be subjecting me to this medical treatment. 

Go figure.

And for goodness' sake, text me back already.