That's $6.50, Come Pick Up Your Joy When The Buzzer Vibrates

Sashial took another spoonful of her Concrete Jungle. "This makes you feel better?" I nodded my head. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She turned to Marley, "This really makes him feel better?"

Marley gave me a quick look and said to Sashial, "It really does."

"Why?" asked Sashial. "And honestly, what the fuck does that thing up there have to do with it?"

Sashial and I set our Shake Shack Concrete Jungles down on the table as we gazed up at the Flatiron Building. "Human pleasure often comes from stimulation of the senses," I said. "These are flavors I really love. Anything with peanut butter and chocolate. You throw in vanilla and banana and it's just a flavor overload. It's practically intoxicating. And the building is very nice to look at. Humans enjoy looking at things, whether it's to appreciate the visual aesthetics or to connect to its history on a personal level."

Judging by the look on Sashial's face, the response I felt coming wasn't going to reflect the sense of calm I was hoping to achieve in her. "Well don't take this the wrong way," she began, "but I honestly don't give a fuck about the history of that building or what it fucking looks like." She grabbed her cup. "And this concrete whatever the fuck you call it, I don't know 'cause I forget things I don't give a shit about, it's, well it's actually very nice, I'll give you that. But I'm not human. The flavor of food doesn't alleviate my frustration in any way. How could the Yankees get bounced in the first round like that? I just can't fucking believe it."

I felt a little disappointed, especially since it'd been a few weeks already. "Well, I didn't know if it was going to work, I was just hoping, since you've developed an attachment for certain human passions, you know, like sports and what not, I was hoping I could bring you a new one. You know, one that could always be counted on picking you up, since sports can disappoint as much as enthrall."

She smiled. "And I appreciate that. You know, I've existed for thousands of years and not that many things captured me the way baseball did. I think it's that it feeds into my visceral reactions. That's the thing I was created for, Lira and I, we were both given a harsh intensity. The game gives me an outlet for my explosive dynamic. That's where the connection is. You know, I really wasn't created to experience pleasure. That's not what my purpose was intended to be. That's part of why I love saving people, it brings me joy. So does baseball. When it takes that joy away, it's really fucking hard for me to accept."

"You're not mad I introduced you do this, are you?" I had to ask.

Sashial smiled. "Of course not, sweetie. And that's not exactly how it happened anyway."

"There there anything I can do?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "Just finish that concrete thing. I enjoy seeing you happy."

God Damn, That's A Pretty Fuckin' Good Milk Shake. I Don't Know If It's Worth Dying But It's Pretty Fuckin' Good.

"So I woke up in a strange bed still drunk, and when I looked at the person next to me . . ."

"Suzanne," I said, cutting her off as quickly as I could, "why are you telling me this?" I really loved Suzanne, but I can honestly say without fear of guilt that she can be a bit much at times. Usually, Marley was there to be the buffer when she started to push the limits of my patience, but this time, it was just the two of us.

But the thing that truly had me in disbelief is that this whole thing was my idea. I'd always regretted being so dismissive to her when we were in Angel training, plus since she and Marley had become such close friends, getting to know Suzanne better just seemed like the right thing to do. And that's how we ended up in Shake Shack, since she wanted to know about my interests too, plus they don't have them in Chicago yet.

"I'm just trying to explain," she continued, "that there are thing in my past that I'm not too proud of. I look back at my high school and college years, and I feel ashamed of some of the things I did. And the way I treated people."

My supportive angel instinct kicked in. "Everyone does things like that when they're young. Hell, you're practically supposed to things you regret later. It's part of becoming an adult."

"That's the thing. I never really grew up. My Lupus symptoms started just a couple years after college. It was like my life was taken away. First I was sad. Then it was hard to function, then it was just a lot of pain and hospital stays. I never really had the chance to be me as a grown up."

"And that's why being an angel is so important to you," I said.

"Yep. But it's not just about, like, making up for stuff I've done. It's like, I never had the chance to turn my life around. But I can help other people do it, I can, like, exist through them."

I smiled. "When'd you become so deep?"

She giggled. "When I died."

A minute earlier, I was horrified. Now I felt like she deserved something. I handed her my cup. "Here, you've got to try this. It's the Concrete Jungle. It's vanilla custard with hot fudge, peanut butter and bits of banana. You'll think you've died and gone to Heaven again."

She tried it and her jaw dropped. "Oh my God. Now I really wish they had these in Chicago."

"You're in Heaven," I reminded her. "If you want to pimp out your version of Chicago to have a Shake Shack, just do it."

She laughed. "You just want everywhere to be like New York City."

I threw my hands up. "And . . . ?"

What's In Satan's MP3 Player

"'You know how I know you're gay? You like the movie Maid In Manhattan.'"

I chuckled. "Yeah, that was a good line. What do you want to know about it?"

Sashial shook her head. "What the fuck is Maid In Manhattan?"

"It's a movie with Jennifer Lopez," I said, "I thought you Archangels knew everything."

"Only stuff we care about. You think I give a fuck about a Jennifer Lopez movie?" she answered.

That had me scratching my head. "I thought you have love for all of mankind."

"I do," said Sashial, "I still love her as I love all humans. But that doesn't mean her movies aren't all crap. What was that fuckin' thing you were bitching about the other day when we were watching the Yankee game? Some song they were playing over the sound system?"

I cringed at the memory. "Oh yeah. Your Love by The Outfield. I hate that fuckin' song."

"Right. So, do you think the guys who made that song belong in Hell?"

"Pretty much."

That earned me a smack in the head. "Will you fucking get serious for a minute?" said Sashial. "I'm talking about the true nature of good verses evil, I'm serious about this shit!"

Something about the subject of morality always set her off, so I figured it was best to just strip away any wisecracks and speak in unadulterated truth. "No, they're not evil. I'm sure they're good people."

"Good boy," she said. "You have to separate the creation from the creator. Humans engage in many things you might find objectionable. Maybe even offensive. But a human's behavior and ethic principles aren't always the same. One might have an influence on the other, but you need to look closely at how they work. A person could have goodness in his heart and never bear deliberate malice toward another person, yet still be a complete asshole."

I thought of Pete Roberts and immediately got the point. "Or a serial killer might still be good to his mother," I added.

She smiled. "Now you're starting to learn. Good fucking thing. I wouldn't want you denying someone their divine intervention because you don't like the shit in their iPod, or whatever the fuck goes on down there."

I shook my head. "Oh, I'd never do that."

"I know you wouldn't, sweetie. Now, you want to explain why that line is supposed to be funny?"

I'd nearly forgotten how we got on the subject. "Oh. 'Cause, like, that movie's a chick flick."

"And how does that relate to a man placing his penis in another man's rectum?" she asked, with her usual mix of humorous foolery and serious indigance.

"Look, it's just a line from a movie. You're the one who asked about it. You want to learn about comedy or not?"

"Not anymore. We've got lives to save."

Time to go to work.

The Unexpected Challenge Of The Unchallenging

"I did feel bad about killing my mother, but . . ."

I cut her off right there. "Marley, we've been through this, you know it wasn't your fault."

"I know, I know," she assured me, "I'm just saying, when I thought I was responsible for what my dad did, it was something that shaped who I was. People talk about how they carry a burden and it affects who they are, but it's more than that. How can you react positively to anything when you're enveloped in negativity? It's not always something that's ingrained.

"I think this is worse. I think if a traumatic experience shapes who you are, and it's something you might not remember, but you're sad by nature, it's different than knowing you might be able to respond in a good way to something, but you don't, because something you remember makes you feel unworthy."

"Which is worse?" I asked. Before she answered, I clarified the question. "Which is easier for an Angel to treat, do you think?"

"I don't know. If it's a memory, they need to accept the past. If it's ingrained, they need to accept themselves. It's a challenge either way."

Which brought us back to our prime example. "The first time you talked to your mother after she died, how did you approach it? Did you say you were sorry?"

"No," Marley said. "I knew it wasn't my fault at that point, you showed me that. It was just like a big reunion. Really big, like, a few decades and across dimensions is a lot to reunite from. But that's the thing, that's the challenge. It's not like everyone has a problem that can be fixed by dying and seeing a dead relative. We're supposed to help people when they're still alive."

"Why are you asking? Are you in the middle of a tough case right now?"

She shook her head. "No, but they've all been easy so far. I always worry about the really hard case that might come along and what I'd do if I couldn't help somebody?"

"Marley, did it ever occur to you that the reason all your cases seem easy is because you're really really good at this?"

She though for a second. "I guess I never thought of that. Maybe I shouldn't worry so much."

I nodded. "True that."

She smiled. "Did you just say, 'True that?'"

"I did. I must have picked it up from Tony. You pick anything up from Suzanne?"

She thought for a second and said, "Well, she says 'sammich' a lot, I think that's a Chicago thing. I don't like that though."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's how they say 'sandwich.'"

Thank god for Marley's better judgment.

Happiness, I Will Look For You. I Will Find You. And I Will Keep You.

God once told me that Earth is paradise and not Heaven, because the challenge of creating happiness for yourself is what brings you the most gratification. I didn't learn this until I died, in fact, the lack of gratification I found when I was alive would have made this an entirely abstract concept. I don't even know how often people realize how special the joy they create for themselves is. What we normally realize as humans is when things go wrong. The average living person is, in all likelihood, bound to exclaim that they're in a living hell at some point than that they're in Heaven. So, as an angel, part of the reason I'm so busy is because people in paradise think they're in Hell. We call that a paradox.

This is leading up to something that Sashial said to me the other day. "You've never been in the actual Hell, but I know when you were alive, you felt like you were."

"Let's say, I was in hell with a lower case 'h,'" I said.

She gave me a typical condescending yet concessionary shrug. "Whatever the f--- you want to call it, you were there. And now you're here. Have you ever thought about how it would feel if suddenly you were taken from Heaven?"

I was taken aback by that. "No! Why, should I? Is that possible?"

"No, of course not. Not for you. But in terms of human suffering, as an angel, you have to realize that people go through that. Happiness doesn't always put an end to insecurity. Some humans can live in the moment. Some can't. This may be hard to realize because you never felt you had something that might be taken, but sometimes recognizing human suffering is more complicated than looking for a frown or a tear."

"So, I have to recognize that people who are happy are going to become unhappy?"

"No," she said, "you have to prepare yourself for the idea that losing your paradise can be just as bad as being in your "hell with a lower-case h," or whatever."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because this is the part where it gets tricky. Your experience as an angel is growing. When you first started, you weren't ready to accept the idea that having happiness or complacency and losing it can be just as bad as existing in misery, but I think you're improving. You might not be so f---ing useless after all."

I said, "Everyone has a right to their own pain."

"Pretty smart."

"Well, Marley's the one who actually said that."

"I know she did," said Sashial. "Do you f---ing think I would use the word 'smart' in reference to you?"

I thought about it for a second, and said, "No. In fact not only would I be surprised, in way, I think I'd be oddly hurt."

She smiled. "Good boy."

She Better Steer Clear Of The Shops On Bleecker Street

I was hanging out with Lira the other day, and she told me about this t-shirt she saw. "It said, 'I wish my grass was Emo, then it would cut itself.'" I started laughing, and she gave me one of her trademark frosty stares. "That's funny?"

"Well, yeah."

"And why is that funny?"

I actually struggled to come up with an explanation, and I wasn't sure if it was because sometimes it's difficult to sum up human behavior in way that Lira can understand, or if, when I thought about it, it actually wasn't funny at all. I tried telling her about some of the things I'd read about cutters, like how it's used to distract from emotional pain.

"Do you even remember what emotional pain is like?" she asked. "You haven't been dead that long, I know that void where your brain should be isn't much for retaining anything, but considuring what a mental whiner you were, I'd hoped you'd hold on to enough to see that there's no humor in someone dragging a razor across their arm. You really expect to be an angel without that?"

"Ok, let's back up for a second," I said. "Do you know what schadenfreude is?"

She put her hand on my head and gave me a gentle shake. "Did you actually find a way to kill brain cells that are already dead? I knew if someone could find a way, it would be you. I'm an archangel, you idiot, of course I know what that means. It's the malicious enjoyment of others' misfortune."

"And you also know how much I hated people, and for how long. Well, it's like, people either sympathize with the pain of others, or they take a certain satisfaction in it, as dispicable as that is. I'd always thought it was because people are such vile beings, but you also have to understand that it helps people deal with their own pain if they know that other people feel it too. When they're upset, and they walk around and see joy everywhere, it only angers them, because they feel more alone. Even if it's phony, because how can they tell? Knowing that others are screwed up makes people remember that other people are just like them, or at least it's a reminder that there's nothing really inherently wrong with them because pain is actually common."

"And that makes that stupid t-shirt funny?"

"Partly. But also there's a perception that that some overindulge in their own troubles for attention. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, but it's gotten easier the longer I've been an angel."

Lira looked at me and smiled. "Sweetheart, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I knew all that. Like I said, I'm an archangel. I just wanted to see if you knew." She gave me a stern look as a way of saying she was serious and not just comedicaly saving face, but after the first time I spoke to her face to face, I never doubted her truthfulness anyway. "Your a good angel."

"Thanks," I said. "Sashial and I are going to the ball game tonight. You coming?" Her head dropped and I started to laugh. "Just kidding."

I'm Going To Be Honest . . . With You. I . . . HATE This Place

"What was it like when Shannon left?" asked Marley.


The question confused me. "Why would you ask me that? She's in past, I was over that a long time ago, you know that."

"I know," she said, "I'm not asking because of you, it's for my latest assignment. It's a guy who went through a breakup. I've never had my heart broken, I think it might help to know what it's like."

"Like you even need any help," I answered. Nervously, I continued, "And . . . forgive me if it, you know, offends you, but . . . I know you've been hurt."

With a calm detachment, she said, "Oh sure, but I was abused. Not heartbroken. It's not the same."

I took that in, and said, "Well, misery kind of defines you. As positive or upbeat as you try to be, it doesn't change the place you're in, and as long as you're there, no escape can ever completely take you out of there. Smile all you want, people can tell, because when you're stuck in that place, you're a different person. It was like, I wished so badly to be out of there, because I knew it was ruining my life, and I didn't want to be that person. But I was trapped. And still, I kept thinking, 'This is where I'm supposed to be right now, I guess 'cause I figured you belong there after a breakup. Looking back, I can't believe I tried to justify things like that."

"I remember," she said. "I recognized your turmoil when I first saw you."

"You recognize everyone's everything."

"This was different. Even though you were being so nice to me, I could tell that you weren't quite you. Yeah, I just knew you were sad about something, but there was something else. You were friendly but you didn't smile. Something didn't add up. You know, you can have the best intentions of turning things around and still fail, and it's not your fault. Even though people might tell you it's a matter of personal strength, it's usually not. They might say 'get over it,' like there's a switch you just won't bother to flip. But even if there was, if you're stuck in the bad place, it's like, the switch isn't there, it's somewhere else. How do you get there?"

"An angel takes you," I said.

"Sometimes. Hopefully."

"Was I helpful?"

"Yes," she said, "even though, in a way, I wish you weren't."

On Death: Splung For Me

Words cannot begin to express how much happier a person I am. My life was filled with so much misery that I don’t think it was a very good person to be around. I feel like I’m a little more uplifting, which is good, considering I’m an Angel, that tends to be a good quality in those meant to inspire the living. Are there really unhappy Angels? I know that I used to be, at least when I was a trainee. I suppose I could have just as easily been an unhappy person and continue being an angel. I mean, after all, I was miserable when I passed my final exam. I know that I was good at my job so I think that’s what the difference was. Then again, I would have been a soul in Heaven who hated his job, if you’re going to have that kind of existence in heaven what would the fucking be point anyway?

I think I’m beginning to veer off topic. The thing that I was really wondering, was about how this epiphany, or attitude adjustment, or, I don’t know, just general exhilaration, only came with death. Sometimes I wonder, is it ironic or pathetic, that in order to achieve this mental turnaround I had to die? I had a look at the last phase of my existence, when I was in a state of misery, and the fact that it ended when my life ended, or at least a little bit after, it seems kind of unfair, both to me, and people who were alive. First of all, why wasn’t I allowed to have a good life? I think that’s part of the reason I had such issues with becoming an angel in the first place. I also think it's kind of offensive to the living, the idea that life should be defined by such misery, at least by me. And my way out was by ending it. I mean, that’s not what I intended to do, but it’s what happened. Does the fact that I finally achieved fulfillment in existence with the end of my life lived condone the idea that life is only a temporary existence and that the afterlife is what you really need to strive for?

Then I remember what God said to me, that the true reward is the challenge of creating the positive existence for yourself without everything being handed to you. I felt like my life was terrible because nothing was handed to me. And sometimes that makes me wonder, does being given nothing actually mean you’re being given everything to achieve happiness?, And maybe I wasn’t up for it?

Sometimes I think “My life so much better now.” And then I remember, oh wait, I’m fuckin’ dead. Don’t get me wrong, I really love being an angel, and sometimes I can look at it like I just got a new job and changed locations. I found a career I love. And what’s wrong with that? I asked Marley about this the other day, and she said “Death was my drug rehab,” and she seems okay with that. Maybe I’m just over thinking this, and that’s what really got me in trouble down there in the first place.

I also asked Sashial about this too. She said “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

Naturally, I answered, “I love you too.”

Oh, Are We Fighting? Sorry, Didn't Notice

The White Sox are in town, so Suzanne came in and she, Marley and I went out to dinner the other day.

"The thing I love about New York," Suzanne said, "is how everyone has such an attitude."

That confused me. "You love that about New York?"

"Oh yeah! It's a swagger. Like confidence. You think you're all so superior."

Still not getting it. "Again, this is the thing you like?"

"Totally! There's no hatred! Everyone has this idea about New York, like you look down on everyone."

"Well, we kinda do," I had to admit.

"Yes," she said, "but not in a bad way. Everyone else has this us against them mentality. They see New York as the enemy. Like, people in Chicago, we have this attitude that we're the best of both worlds, because we're a major city in the mid-west. We combine the pure, old-fashioned, rootsy heartland American ideals with modern, industrialized city life. But we have this bitterness that we don't get credit for that because we're still not as big and recognized as New York City. Chicagoans pretty much hate New York. But let me ask you this, what's you're opinion of Chicago?"

"Well, I like you."

She laughed. "Oh, you are SO sweet! But seriously, not what you think of me, what you think of the city of Chicago."

I though for a second and said, "It's alright, I guess. I don't know, I don't really think about it."

"Exactly! This rivalry, this hatred, it doesn't really exist on your end, it's not something that matters to you. It's a much bigger deal to us, we're the ones who are, like, all negative. You know, there's a lot of hatred in this world. So much of it comes from people being just, like, insecure. If more people had faith in themselves, maybe there'd be less pain everywhere."

Then Marley said, "And that's where the angels come in. Partly, anyway."

Suzanne nodded. "Yeah. I just hope I can help enough people see that."

"You can see it's a problem," said Marley. "That's what makes you a good angel, that's why you'll help plenty of people."

Suzanne smiled and looked like she was gonna cry for a second. But collectedly, she looked at me and said, "I love this girl."

Who wouldn't?

Angels In The ISI

Inspiration comes from many forms and sources. There's positive ones, like simple joy: maybe things are going well, you feel refreshed and energetic. You're at your best, most productive, and whatever line you're in, your work is not a chore because you're bringing a positive energy to what you do. The less you feel like you're actually laboring, the easier it is to labor. In some ways, it seems a little unfair, because you're not really conscious of how effective you're being. That's why it's better to just let it happen, look back later, and who knows, you might end up surprising yourself with what you've done.

Or, and some would argue this is the more likely scenario, you're in a negative place and your labor is your escape. Now, I'm not just talking about art; many will assume this falls into the whole "true art comes from pain" bulls--- that leads to pseudo-intellectual self-aggrandizing critical ramblings and rationals to engage in over-indulgence. But how often do you also hear about people throwing themselves into their jobs because their personal lives are in shambles? In some respects, artistic creativity and corporate business diligence are not all that different. People from all walks of life need a distraction, whether it's a work or at home.

This begs the question, why does everyone need to be distracted? If a human's natural state is the very thing they need to escape from, what does that say about the purpose of human existence? If someone is having a good life, we often say they're "living the dream." And there's the problem. Maybe happiness shouldn't be the dream, maybe it should be the standard.

The issue there is, without a goal, with nothing to strive for, humans are never truly happy. I've talked about this before, it's aiding in the journey towards joy and self-fulfillment that drives the angels' existence. So are we actually positive or negative? We're like emotional medication, but, are we the curing indication found within or unfortunate side-effects listed on the label?

Either way, doing it makes me happy, god knows my job on Earth didn't make me feel this way, or anything for that matter. I was going to ask Marley what she thought, but pontificating on a drug metaphor is probably not what you want to ask of a former heroin addict. I asked Lira, and she said, "Do you honestly believe if there was a concrete answer, I would tell you?"

"No, you'd tell me to figure it out for myself or I'd never learn anything."

"Good boy. Keep it going, I have faith that your IQ will hit the century mark someday."

I coughed a sarcastic laugh, "Thanks for believing in me."

"No problem. Take eternity if you have to. And you probably will."

You've got to love her.

That's Not Quite How Michael Kay Would Phrase It

"Burnett's a question mark," said Sashial. "He's a fucking mental case. The Yankees need him to live up to his talent, he's never gonna do that if he doesn't learn to grow the fuck up and stop being a emotional little bitch."

I said, "That's funny, I heard one of the sportswriters from the New York Times say the same thing on ESPN." She laughed. "Get the fuck out of here, you wiseass!"

"You know, you're sounding more human every day."

She didn't seem to like that. "What the fuck are you talking about? I'm a fucking archangel."

"Yes, but when I met you, you seemed pretty down on the whole human race."

"Bullshit," she answered, "I always had love for you, you know that."

"Oh, nobody knows that better than me," I said, "but you still had a sincere contempt for what we did, it was like you were trying to rescue us from ourselves. I couldn't tell if we did a single thing you found worthy of your attention other than reveal our shortcomings. Look at you now. You love baseball. I know it started because you love heckling from the stands, but you're even talking statistics now, in your own way of course. You've taken enough interest in a human recreational activity to absorb a level of expertise. You would have never done that a year or two ago."

"How the fuck do you know that? Remember, Lira and I were in your head, not the other way around. You've gotten to know us really well over the past couple years, but there's a complexity to us you still couldn't imagine."

"So I'm wrong?" I asked.

She exhaled and tilted her head. "Not exactly. We were created for a specific purpose like the archangels, but we were also fitted to be adaptable. We can develop feelings and interests. Humans are constantly adapting too, I'm sure you know that. Their interests come and go with the generations, much shorter even. These things you think of as fads, we're not immune to them. We've seen so many things come and go, you saw dozens in your lifetime, imagine how many we've seen? It's a constant reminder that the human lifespan is so fleeting, these things define your era. To me, it's like they're gone in a heartbeat. Kind of like humans."

"What does it matter?" I asked. "When their life ends, they end up here."

"Oh FUCK, sometimes I really think you'll never fucking get it. Our goal is to enhance the living existence, to aid the challenge of that, and it goes by so quickly that if you blink and miss it, someone has a miserable life. Overcoming sorrow and desperation in your lifetime is the true reward, not playing video games and eating peanut fucking butter and chocolate cookies for eternity."

"Don't be hattin' on my Tagalongs," I said. "And I do get it. Well, I'm getting it."

She smiled. "I know you are, sweetie. Remember, angels go on for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. You've only been one for a few years. You've got plenty of time to learn."

"You're right. So, you think the Red Sox are really the favorites to win the division?"

She chortled and shook her head. "Fuck them."

How Does He Know? Is He Dead? If He Was, He Wouldn't Be Here

This Glen Beck guy kind of makes me glad I'm dead. I listen to him and think that I wouldn't want to live in a world with that guy, much less one that's raised him to the level of celebrity. I also think that people take him seriously and realize how many people need to be saved.

Then again, it's not my job to save them from what isn't my idea of sensible ideology. Angels are not politicians, personal philosophy is something you have to figure out on your own. Intervening via divine intervention is actually against what we stand for, just like what Michael said to us in angel training class when he was talking about the "events" of the Bible.

But when a guy like that points to a horribly tragic natural disaster and says it may be a message from God, that's just wrong. First of all, he's never met God. Second of all, I have. He's a creator, he doesn't like to intervene, and when he does, he doesn't do it like that.

My own theory is that Glen Beck's entire existence is a message from Satan. He's saying "I exist. How else could you explain this crying buffoon?"

That Hole In The Wall Could Have Been Your Face

It's hard sometimes. You know, when I first became an angel, I think I considered the campaign against sorrow to be my mission. Anyone whose heard what I've been saying for a while knows that I've discovered anger to be an equally prevalent force in the destruction of man's complacency. I think when I died I didn't realize how much a rival to sorrow anger was in the basics of the angel's job because I never realized how angry I was, I only knew I was sad. I don't think my anger prevented me from working my sorrow out, but there was something more subconscious about it that just ate away at me without me knowing it. I think I was just in denial. When you consider yourself sad, you feel more like a victim than if you're angry, something about the visceral force of anger that makes you feel more like an aggressor. You feel less worthy of receiving help, and if you feel that way, chances are you won't get it.

A recent subject, Hershel, recently got into a confrontation with someone he knows, someone he didn't know very long but got along quite well with and considered a friend. "I just keep picturing him in my face, ranting and raving like some kind of fucking insane lunatic. Only he's not insane, he was just hurtful. Fucking ruined Christmas time for me. Every time I picture it I just want to break something, punch a wall, I don't know, shoot a pillow like De Niro did in that movie. And you know what sucks? You know why I hardly spoke back? Because I didn't want to cause a fucking scene."

And there you go again with the rewards of virtue. The high road is lined with the bodies of the malcontents, people who proved they were better and got paid in abuse in return for their honor. What the fuck is wrong with this planet that people do this to each other?

At first, this is why I didn't think I could be an angel, and later, why I knew I had to be. If I'm not around to feed my subject the basic, "Imagine how petty, tiny and insecure that person must be to treat other people like that, how sad their life must be," stock line, then who else will show the kind hearted yet angry, that they're lamb and not the lion? Or that the pathetic belligerent one is not the one who stews in rage but the one who releases it towards the unfair target because they're too pathetic and ugly to know what's right and what's wrong?

Well, Herschel seemed to feel better. God knows I do.