Broken Promises and Stolen Pens

I've often written about my dear friend, Barbie. I speak of her with endearing terms, but in reality she is a pretty tough cookie. Out of all the people I've ever met I would say she is in the top ten of people that I know that don't trust blindly. I've never asked what hurt her so badly that she has become this jaded. It really isn't any of my business, but I don't take it personally when she doesn't open up with me. I am simply delighted that she shares the occasional good word or a laugh with me. I am thankful that I am not on her bad side.

One thing I’ve found in becoming successful living with the humanity portion of being human is assessing situations and lending the benefit of doubt when ever possible. This sort of humanity leaves one open for all sorts of heart breaks.

I have found that everything has value and giving things of value away without strings sometimes detracts from the value. I can recall only a few times when people have taken advantage of me. Once someone was having major computer problems, so I went over and spent several hours cleaning her system up, updating some software and I recovered lost files that were necessary for her professional career. She was grateful and offered me money. I wouldn’t take money, but I knew she was an excellent baker, so I asked her instead to sometime make a batch of chocolate chip cookies for me without chocolate chips in them. Q.E.D., she promised she’d drop them off for me within the next week. I never heard from her again.

Maybe I’m just too sensitive about broken promises, but sadly that broken promise comes to mind rather often.

On the other hand there is the broken trust that hurts even more. As many of you know I enjoy being alone. I’d much prefer to travel alone than be stuck in a car and have someone travel with me and have to listen to someone blather or have uncomfortable silence over long distances. There was a woman who needed a ride to a function we were both attending recently. I always keep a pen in the consol by the shifter in my truck. Well, this woman was sitting there and she reached down and picked up the pen, but I didn’t see her use it to write anything. That was the last I saw of that pen. It was a really good pen, too and I looked under the seat and on the floor for it. It was gone; she intentionally lifted it like a magpie taking a shinny object.

I know these incidents weren’t really bad like being robbed at gun point or a physical assault, but broken promises, broken trust and broken hearts need to mend just like other physical and psychological injuries. Some times we never mend.