I don’t who I am madder at – them or me.
The other morning I had hit a good pace and I didn’t want to break stride and hop into the street; I estimate a few wide steps and I’d be through it. Not only was I wrong on how big the hurdle was, I misjudged its depth. I didn’t fall, but I could have skidded into a knee-wrecking tumble. Many thoughts hurdled through my mind as I felt my new walking shoes sink and slide, coalescing around the conviction that it was their fault I made a bad choice.
Two days it took for the shoes to dry enough so I could chip off the mud soaked leaves; it took another day for the shoes to dry again from the hosing that forced the mud from the shoes soles. Three days is time enough to admit taking a short cut through another person’s negligence isn’t worth it. Taking the time to steer clear would have been a much better plan – but I was so sure I could navigate the mess.
So I am madder at myself: one, for making an unnecessary mess. But two, for forgetting to pray until just now for the people whose problems might be a wee more pressing than mine.