Cruller: (n) a rich, light cake cut from a rolled dough and deep-fried
Now I understand.
It’s taken me a while.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been in fits of denial, or even rebellion.
Perhaps I was temporarily stuck in the foolishness of, “It’s not fair.”
But I’ve been worn down. I have survived frazzled and become limp in my comprehension.
To live long, you must hate things.
It’s true. Don’t try to disagree with me.
I remember the first time I put a piece of fried bologna in my mouth.
I thought to myself:
“Yes. This is what God is like.”
But before I could even get it down my throat to land in my gullet, somebody nearby asked the two deadly questions:
“Do you know how many calories are in that?”
“Did you know they make it out of pig snouts?”
Either though neither question would truly deter me from eating fried bologna again, I realized that if I wanted to live on Planet Sensitive, Earth Mother Eat Your Vegetables, or the Third Planet from the Fun, I would have to learn to hate things that were certainly did not deserve my disdain.
Unfortunately the list just keeps growing.
Today, when the word “cruller” came up, I realized it has been many years since I’ve had one.
And they have them just down the street. But I have succeeded in avoiding them—believing them to be tasty, quick death.
But just hearing the word tore down all my defenses, shattered my prejudice and made me want to get in my car and go buy one.
What harm could one do?
Well, one atomic bomb can kill a hundred thousand people.
One bullet in your brain will leave you thoughtless.
And I’m told that one cruller can rob days, maybe weeks, from my journey.
Are we really lengthening our lives for a joyful purpose–or just adding days, focusing our souls to hate things that really, really deserve our love?
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