It is a delightful change to be ill. Or, rather, to be actually ill.
Not the usual sentiment, eh? Most people despise, or at the very least dislike, facing sickness. Even when the symptoms are merely irritating, and this particular virus is predictable and relatively mundane, there still remains the fact that I am not feeling my best.
But when am I feeling my best? Not very often, I answer myself, although the very nature of that phrase means that we are only ever feeling our best once, and then we must be feeling even better than that to claim that title once again.
The point. I am getting to it.
Having such an illness is refreshing because 1) its symptoms are treatable, 2) it ensures that I will finally catch the sleep that has eluded me for several months, and 3) it explains much about my disposition and overall health these past several weeks. Always nice to have an official doctor-given excuse.
At any rate, that is not why I am here today. Nor shall I regale you with tales of my drowsy endeavors of these past few days, most of which include attempting to play the vidjeo games, writing gangsta rap (word!), and sleeping. Especially the sleeping.
Instead, a specific topic: actions versus intentions.
Consider the Bible story. Big J and his peeps are chillin’ near the temple. Some rich guys are bragging about how much they donated. An old woman gives a small amount of money, clearly all she has, and hobbles out without a word. Big J says that she gave more than any of those rich dudes.
Or something. It’s been a while since I’ve read the book.
Anyway, in economic terms, she didn’t. She gave a contribution that represented a great personal sacrifice, and showed the depths of her moral integrity in supporting a cause that meant so much to her, but her two coins are far outweighed by the massive piles of money given by the other selfish, disgustingly wealthy donors.
Do charities care about the morality of the people who give them money? Probably. They certainly like to know where the money is coming from. I highly doubt that PETA would accept a donation from a meatpacker’s association, or that Greenpeace would use free fuel supplied by BP.
(Reminds me of one of the opening scenes in Armageddon – Bruce Willis, the oil driller, aims golf balls at a Greenpeace boat and shouts “How’d you get out here? Canoe? Rowboat? Oh, that boat down there with a thousand horsepower diesel!” Anyway.)
But it’s impossible to know someone’s intentions, isn’t it? A multimillionaire who gives half his fortune to a charity might genuinely believe in the cause, or he just might want to see his name on a building and be loved by the general public. And, when it comes down to it, money is money. It’s touching, heart-wrenching, to see someone make a monetary sacrifice that leaves then a little bit hungrier for the next month – but it doesn’t mean squat when compared to that check, so big it has its own gravitational field, from Rich Uncle Pennybags.
So yeah. Not sure where I was going with this. But it’s nice to write something, you know?
