Karen on compassion

I was taught a mighty lesson today.

I've been procrastinating having my 40 year blood-work done, because I see a doctor at a military base 20 miles from my home, and because it requires fasting.  Fasting from food I can handle.  Fasting from caffeine (in the form of coffee), I cannot.

Let me just confess here before God and (wo)man that I was jonesing in the purest sense of the word.

Sweaty
Shaking
Irrational
Desperate for the comfort of that warm mug in my grip.  Yearning for that first glorious sip.

I know I'm pathetic.  Once every four years I attempt to go off the juice.  It might take a psychiatrist to understand why I always choose to do this smack in the middle of a PCS (Permanent Change of Station) move.  Crazy.  Maybe that's why it never takes.  Maybe fourteen consecutive days of cringing, skull-busting pain is too great a price to pay for giving up something I don't want to give up.

At any rate, as I raced out of the clinic and in the general direction of an overpriced coffee empire-- Band-Aid on arm and keys jangling in hand-- I passed through the haze of some poor smoker's habit.

And even though my particular habit is not threatening my life, I totally, completely understood.