Supersize The Sorrow

Marley can tell you a lot about addictive behavior; spending nearly half your life in a heroin induced haze will give you that kind of insight. But there are some things to realize when it comes to the circumstances surrounding her dependency. She was drawn to drugs as a result of personal tragedy. But many of us have our own addictions; they may not be as extreme has hard drugs, but by telling ourselves there’s no serious damage, it gives us license to dive deep in our vices without escaping, and usually they come from a place not nearly as damaging as what Marley went through. When I think about the guilt she faced every time she put that needle in her arm, I feel so petty thinking about my inability to give up candy or whatever.

But Marley has always said, everyone has a right to their own pain, and just like your values differ, so do the things we cling to when we can’t have what we treasure. Before I became an angel, I had trouble seeing that. Things change. They had to.

After my engagement broke up, I was in a McDonald’s when I saw an overweight man sitting at one of the tables. Well, he was more than overweight, he was morbidly obese. I’m not saying that to be mean, he was huge, like to the point where I wondered how he managed to move, and how close to a heard attack was he. And he wasn’t just having a snack, or even what you’d call a normal meal; had about four or five boxes of Chicken Selects lined up in a row on the table. Now, my first though was to look down on him. I thought about what a fool he was, how irrespoinsible he was to have such disregard for his own health, all for the sake indulging in a manufactured, artificially flavored fast food product. 

Then I took another look at him, and I realized he didn’t have any kind of look of indulgent satisfaction on his face, like the first time I saw Pete Roberts. He looked sad. He looked really, really sad. Almost as if he knew he was hurting himself and was powerless to stop it, and instead of wondering how he could be so careless, I was wondering what happened in his life that drove him to such a sad state. And it wasn’t even a sense of pity, I felt kind of comradery in sorrow, and I thought about a time not much before then, when I bought a bunch of boxes of my beloved Tagalong peanut butter and chocolate patty cookies. I opened the box and had one. I was resolved to save the rest for later, but before I knew it, I’d gone through almost the entire box in the space of about five minutes. I was all the way down to the last one, and then I stopped. I left one in the box, and I convinced myself that if I let one be, it would me I hadn’t gone through the entire box and I wouldn’t be as pathetic as I now believed I was. But it was a sham, a loophole that wouldn’t hold up in the court of basic psychology. I knew that by doing that, I wasn’t any different than the man at the Mickey D’s, the fact that I was thin didn’t change the truth that I’d just downed an ungodly about of sugar and saturated fat because there was something missing from my life

Being an angel, you see varying degrees of sorrow like this all the time, and you have to realize Marley was right; no body is more or less deserving of intervention because of  the severity of their troubles or emotional symptoms. It’s not our place to even measure them and make a judgment call; a human in need can’t be pushed aside because we’re setting priorities. They’re all a priority. Call it first come, first serve if you want, I call it a constant process. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be an angel

Forget About That Rain On Your Wedding Day Crap

"A funny thing happened on the way to the 7-11. Not 'haha' funny, interesting funny. I saw a blind man trying to cross the street, and this woman came over and asked if he needed help, and she walked him over to the other side."

"Why were you going to a 7-11?" asked Suzanne. "If you wanna giant soda you can just snap your fingers."

"I can do that," I admitted, "but I miss the real places, you know? Especially the ones that brought me comfort. You wouldn't believe the healing power of sixty-four ounces of coke and deluxe size beef jerky."

"Fair enough. So, what was so weird about the woman helping the blind guy? It was probably just another angel."

"That's what the funny part was. I was wondering just that; was it just another angel? Then I realized, I didn't want to find out. I didn't want to know. When I found out that a lot of the good samaritans in New York City were angels, it kind of made me angry. I hated people so much, and the idea that the few times I saw them actually show a shred of humanity, that they only were because they weren't even human, it felt like I'd been lied to. I thought all the things I hated about people had be reinforced. But now that I'm not as angry, I find myself wanting to believe in them."

Suzanne's face lit up with her trademark unfiltered enthusiasm, "You realize what you're saying, right? It's, like, there different types of faith. You and me, 'cause we're angels, we're what these people are praying for. But now, you're praying for them. You're holding on to the belief that people are better than you thought they were. Now that you in Heaven, you're divine. But you still have your own version of what faith is."

She was onto something, which would have shocked me not to long ago. I used to pray for her to shut up, now I genuinely wanted to see where she was going. "Which is what?"

"Your faith is to see the best in the living. 'Cause that's what you work for, letting them be their best. It's kind of ironic. The better we do, the less they need us. We're dreaming of a day where we become obsolete."

I shook my head. "That's never gonna happen."

She gave me a half-defeated, half-agreement nod. "Of course not. But deep down, you still wish it. If you didn't, you wouldn't have the heart to be angel."

I had to ask, "So, being an angel, you want it, and at the same time, you don't want it?"

"Not exactly. I still feel I have my life to make up for. But deep down inside, kinda. Don't you?"

I thought for a second, then I smiled. "Let's go to Steak 'N Shake. It's on me."

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."

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."

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.

Never Give Up, Never Surrender!

Lira said something to me the other day that really made me think. "How can you stand it?"

"What?" I asked.

"These people and their problems," she said. "So many people never get any better. Even if you help them through a crisis, there might be another one coming soon. Did you ever think that you're doing this all for nothing?"

"Do you?"

"Hey, pay attention, we're not talking about me. I'm asking you a question, I'll put it in writing if it'll help you figure out what your own thoughts mean."

"OK, OK, ease up," I said. "Well, this one guy, he's got a bit of a confidence problem, it makes it hard for him to act. Just about every few weeks he's moaning over something he didn't do, a chance he may have missed."

Lira sneered. "Life's full of regrets."

"Yeah, but it's easier to regret something you did than something you didn't do. He feels like he can't change his life until he changes who he is. Change like that doesn't come easy. You can't just flip a switch and suddenly have the confidence to act, talk to a stranger, take a chance with something, especially when there's no guarantee the outcome will be any different."

"So again, why do it?"

"Because if he abandons hope, I have to have hope for him. Even if he gives up. If I never give up, he'll still have a chance to find happiness, no matter how much he believes it won't happen."

Lira smiled. "That's a good answer. You know, if I'd asked you that a year ago, you probably wouldn't have known. You were more about saving people from the hurt you felt when you were alive. Now you're starting to develop the wisdom of how divine intervention works."

I wasn't leaving that alone. "I'm sorry, did you just say I had wisdom?"

"Don't let it get to your head, you idiot. You can answer one question out of fifty and you still fail the test miserably."

"Glad to see you're not going soft on me," I said. "Now tell me this. How do you deal with people who won't get better?"

"I'm not human."

"Neither am I."

"Yes, but you were, dunce" she said. "I never was, I don't have to deal with issues like that. I am as I am."

True. She's not human. Sometimes I forget that.

Sorrow Vs Anger, Rounds Seven Through Twelve

Now take what happened to Tom a few weeks later. He's divorced for quite some time, but he married young and never really got the hang of meeting people and dating. "I saw this girl on the subway, right? She's cute, I even took a seat across from her just to get a good look. And during the ride, I notice a bunch of times that she's looking at me. At one point, I even looked up and down a bunch of times in a row and she was looking at me every time. And I did nothing. I'm not a forward guy, I'm not Mr Pickup Artist, hookin' up with girls on the subway. But dude, she was fuckin' checkin' me out! It wouldn't have taken much to just give myself a chance. Just say 'Hi.' Hell, just wave! Hell, just fucking smile! Fuckin' do something! Maybe you won't fucking die alone, 'cause if I keep doing nothing, that's what it feels like is going to happen."

Now, I'd originally thought that this is where sorrow trumps anger, because this is what Tom has to live with. It's not a burst of emotion, he's walking around with the knowledge that he failed to act and it may have cost him something. Whether it really did or not is not really the issue. That's the point; he doesn't know what trying to connect with this girl would have led to, and he never will. Better to try and be rejected than always wonder how your life might have turned out if only you'd captured the moment.

This kind of sorrow eats away at you. Anger's got nothing on that. But then I thought about Tom's tone when he told the story. He was indignant, almost spitting the worlds out. At who? At the girl? No, of course not, she didn't do anything wrong. Tom's anger is directed towards himself. That's not the revelation, that much is pretty obvious. But how is sorrow defined? If you think in terms of Tom, sorrow is really an inverted form of anger. If someone stole something precious from you, you'd resent them for it. Tom resents himself, and people who do generally have two reactions: acting out or acting in. Instead of taking things out on those around him, he turns it inward and responds by not allowing himself to be happy, sinking his emotional state to a low ebb that seems hard to escape.

So that's sorrow, and that's anger. So what the hell was up with that guy in the supermarket? Maybe in that case I'm mistaking anger for rage. Fuck, negative emotions are definitely not concrete. You didn't think being an angel was easy, did you? Well, maybe for Marley it is, but for reformed misanthropes like myself, there is a bit of labor involved.

Sorrow Vs Anger, Rounds One Through Six

God, it's been crazy lately. Approaching our "on" season. It always gets busier in winter, you know, seasonal affective disorder and all. And now baseball season is over, and as you can imagine, Sashial and I were pretty unhappy about what happened to the Yankees. Lira's response was pretty much in character. "Maybe you two will actually stop worrying about a bunch of euphoric millionaires and get back to actually helping people who need it."

"At least I'm fucking passionate about something," said Sashial.

I chimed in with, "And you know I've been working my ass off, once the weather broke the depression was overwhelming."

Lira smiled, "Baby, it's been well over a year now, the fact that you still can't tell when I'm not serious is so sweet in its imbecility."

"Oh I know when you're kidding," I said, "and I'd laugh it off but I know sharing belligerence is what you live for."

Sashial grabbed my neck and shook me. "I fucking love this guy."

Speaking of belligerence, this kind of leads to a question I've been wondering lately: which is worse, living with anger or sorrow? My first thought was sorrow because that's been my experience, but when I thought deeper I wasn't so sure. Then I tried to think of what was typical. One recent job I had was this guy who was seething with rage, all because some douchebag in the supermarket cut in front of him when they opened up a new lane and then claimed he was letting him go first and got all self-righteous about it, starting in with, "Oh, Jeeeeesus, I mean GOD!"

"Real fucking condescending crybaby shit," my subject told me. We'll call him Tom. "Yeah, he was letting me in, that's why he ran in front of me and got to the line first, that fucking liar, god, when I think about it I just want to find the guy and punch his fucking face in." And Tom's not a violent guy, the guy's attitude just really got under his skin. This kind of crap is pretty easy, you just give them a stock line about how sad the other guy's life must be to pull stupid crap like that, they calm down and by the next they've practically forgotten all about it.

That's the thing about most forms of anger, it's usually an emotional reflex, a short term visceral reaction that's often bigger in your head than it is in real life. The sudden onslaught is like an emotional assault you perpetrate on yourself, that's why the way you see it can be skewed. Especially in this case, because who knows if that guy in the supermarket's intent was malicious or not? It could just be Tom's perception. Why is that? I later had another run in with Tom that shed some light on things. Or so I thought, 'cause it also made me think my theories were a little off. But more on that tomorrow (hopefully).

A Close Brush With . . . Well, Nothing, But Still . . .

Yesterday I had lunch with Tony and Lira in Manhattan. Not the Heaven version, the actual one, because Lira loves the real anger so much. Afterwards, I showed them around the neighborhood, as we were close to a place I used to live. In full-on visible mode, we were crossing the street when a car coming from the cross street sped up to beat the changing light as it was making a left-hand turn in our direction. Headed straight for us, he swerved to avoid Lira and nearly ran right into me, finally stopping short just inches from me. I instinctively moved away and the f---in' guy, without a shred of f---ing decency, just drove away.

Lira was unfazed, since, after thousands of years, this sort of apathy is what she's come to expect from the human race. Plus, since she was never human, she doesn't know what it's like to be fearful for your life. Technically speaking, she was never alive. No harm, no foul.

But I freaked the f--- out. I stood there, frozen, until Lira took my arm and walked me to the sidewalk, upon which she gave a few reassuring pats on the back. Tony didn't understand what the big deal was. "S'ok, you fine. Ain't like you gonna die again."

This annoyed Lira WAY more than the car did, since she knew exactly what was up. But she forgave the mental oversight and just calmly explained to him, "He was killed by a speeding car."
There were two reasons I was really upset. The first is that, while being an angel in Heaven with the freedom to go wherever and do whatever you want, sometimes it feels like you're just some kind of magical entity. You can forget what you truly are, which is dead. Call me reminded.

The second and even bigger thing is that, when I was killed, I was struck without warning and died instantly. I didn't even know I was dead until Archangel Michael showed me my body. This, I saw coming. It was like experiencing the terror of having your life about to come to an end that I never felt when it actually ended. It was scary, and I didn't like it. I hated that feeling of vulnerability. It's been over a year since I died and the first time I felt that way since then. It made me think about the physical and emotional fragility of humans. If the trauma's big enough, even the toughest person can fall apart just like that.

"You ok?" asked Lira.

I nodded. "I'll be fine."

"You wanna go back to Heaven?"

"No," I said, "I want to go back to work."

The Humidity's A Hair Over 40%, But What The Hell?

I went out to lunch with Tony and Suzanne the other day. We went to one of my favorite places down on Earth. I though I'd go with Earth instead of the Heaven counter part that day because the weather was particularly nice. We could have the same conditions up in Heaven of course, even better if we chose to. But sometimes, there's something about nice, genuine Earth weather that seems a little sweeter. It's the same as with anything on Earth: the things you earn are better than the things you're given. Maybe the weather is not your own accomplishment, but it seems all the more special.

It was the first time the three of us had hung out together in a while and it couldn't have come at a better time. In the past week, I'd dealt with a widower, a drug addict doing some serious jonesing and a rape victim (female angels usually handle those, but they were all booked up). It was an emotional draining week, I really needed some extra joy. I can't tell you how rewarding this job is, but there are times when sharing so much despair can get you down. Even dead, it's still good to have friends.

When I found out I'd made a mistake by shutting my friends out after my fiancee left, I was understandably despondent (especially the way I found out). Who knows, maybe I wouldn't be dead right now. But I am, I've learned from my mistakes, and the afterlife is going well (having what you want doesn't guarantee joy after all).

I feel ashamed of a lot of the things I said about Suzanne in the beginning. Thank god angels are forgiving.

Drop That Lobster Roll And Pass Me A Bagel!

Went to another Yankee game with Sashial yesterday. Thus was a big one, cause it was against Boston. She felt the raised excitement and tension level, and so I had to explain the history of the rivalry. "So it gets pretty heated?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I said. " depends on the person. This one girl from Boston I know, after they Yanks won the series one year, she congratulated me. Then this other one, really nice girl, very cool, but when I told her I liked the city of Boston, she wouldn't believe me. She said I couldn't because I'm a Yankee fan."

"What's one thing got to do with another?"

"That's what I asked. She said the city and the team are connected. I was like, 'Well I was there and I felt joy, I don't know what to tell you.' Then I told this to another girl from Boston, and she said she didn't buy that, because she's a Boston fan and she likes new York City. So I told the first girl this and she said it's not the same because Boston's smaller."

Sashial looked confused and annoyed. "Smaller? Are you fucking kidding me? Like the team is a bigger part of the city because there's less of it?"

"I guess."

"What bullshit. You realize what she's actually saying, right? She's saying she forbids you to like Boston, because as a Yankee fan she feels you're unworthy of liking her fucking town. Is this someone you worked with?"

"Yeah."

"So she worked in New York city. Did she live here too?"

"Yep. Still does as far as I know."

"So she owes her fucking home and livelihood to your city. Basically, she's allowed to like your city but you're not allowed to like hers. That's pretty fucking convenient for her. You know, some people might tell her how hypocritical that is, and say, "Doesn't work that way, this isn't a one way street. If this is the way you feel about teams and geography you should be true to yourself and get the fuck out of my city."

I smirked as I shook my head. "I'm too nice to say something like that."

"I know you are, baby."

"How do you help someone like that?" I asked.

"Same as you do everyone else. It's not you job to help her fucking grow up. Just to be there if she needs you."

My Maid's On Vacation, Don't Step On The Needles

Marley's ability isn't quite as omniscient as telekinesis but sometimes it might as well be. This guy I'm working on, his depression over his breakup is getting pretty bad (he was with the girl for five years, after all). He was putting on a pretty brave face while he was at work, although he's not as upbeat as I understand he used to be, and he couldn't help sounding down on monday when people asked him how his weekend was. He tried to be lighthearted about it, often answering the question with, "Well, Cathy and I were going to see Inception but we broke up instead." As an angel, you see this a lot; the subject makes sure he doesn't become a downer to his friends, but his pain always comes through nonetheless. It's rough, you do your best to keep from alienating people, and at the same time you isolate yourself. Makes recovery tough.

Basic procedure is to observe the subject at home and look for signs of the true severity when their barriers are down. Sometimes it's really hard because they're not interacting with anyone, but the minute I saw his apartment, I knew this was bad. They broke up on a friday, and I started the job the following monday. In the space of just a weekend, the place turned into a disaster. Laundry was all over the floor and couch, plates and silverware with remnants of food were piled up and festering in the sink, and he was even taking garbage and tossing it on the floor rather than walk the necessary ten feet to the garbage can.

I was telling Marley about this, and she said, "And what did you think?"

"What did I think? I though he's just given up."

"No, there's something else, something you're afraid to tell me, like it'll hurt my feelings."

"Well, um," I mumbled, "I just, I saw this movie once where this, ah, drug addict was, like, all strung out and staying in this room that had, like, garbage and shit everywhere. And I thought, 'Fuck, it looks like a junkie lives here.'"

She nodded. "It's ok, I'm not offended. I actually kept my place pretty clean. I know you saw what it looked like when we saw my body, but that's because of what my boyfriend did."

"Well, like you said, I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

She smiled. "And that's why you do what you do."

Margaret O'Flannery Ruined My LIfe

I've been an angel for about a year now, and over that time I've noticed some patterns emerge. I've talked about a few of them already, like the spike in depression over Valentine's Day and the sorrow drowning excuse that St Patrick's day provides. Now I've got some categories, and one that's especially prevalent in New York City is men age forty. It sounds like a demographic but what it really is is a trigger. Lots of men who hit forty feel like their god damn lives are over, like anything they haven't achieved to that point will never happen. This happens with both professional and personal goals. When I noticed this, I said to Archangel Michael, "We should form divisions, like have a Job Frustration Department and a Turning Forty Department."

"Oh, We tried that about 400 years ago. It was too structured, the angels didn't like visiting the same issues over and over again."

Makes sense. Nevertheless, my latest job can go in the Men Age Forty file. Ron, we'll call him, is forty, single, and lamenting a lost love. "I hadn't thought about her in years," he said, "then this guy at work asked me who I'd rather be with, a girl who's smart and ugly or hot and stupid. Right away I said, 'hot and stupid.' Then that reminded me of a girl I dated a few years after college. She was blond and beautiful, but she was also a summa cum laude at Columbia University."

"Brains and beauty," I said.

"Exactly. Great girl. She was perfect. But she was actually still in school at the time. She got a B on a paper and acted like it was my fault, like it was because she was spending too much time with me. Then I lost my job. It was a horrible job and it turned out to be a blessing, but at the time, I don't know. I was unemployed when I met her and she didn't care. But after a few months . . . I don't know, maybe she thought if her work was suffering, then it wasn't worth it to be with some unemployed shlub.

"You broke up?"

"Yeah, she dumped me. It was years ago, but I don't know. I'm still single, what if I was like, meant to be with her, and it got screwed up somehow, so now there's no one for me. You know what I mean?"

"That's an interesting theory," I said. "Don't think I buy it though. If there really was fate and destiny, we wouldn't have control over our futures. Look at it this way, if you had a destiny, it would have to come from somewhere, like from God, or some kind of supreme being. Do you think God would be so cruel as to condemn you to a life of misery because of some bad luck that happened fifteen years ago?"

"I guess not." He took a long pause and said, "If there is a God."

So his current state still left him with doubts about both himself and universe. Life can be hard on faith. But at least what I told him gave him hope that his soul mate was still out there somewhere. Michael told me there was no fate, so I felt good that my words were true. Then again, his problem made me feel relieved that I had someone to go home to. Is that ok?