Too tired
for the beach
What is
motivation?
I mean
what makes us humans to what we do?
Those
are questions which flicker through my mind now with the pain of guilt as I
wake to face the morning again.
I was up
until
Susan
was as weary as I was, but
This
wasn’t fair. I was too foggy to think straight. I could barely keep my eyes
open.
Later,
when I had time to wake up, I wondered just what kind of plans I ruined, when
he had only invited us out to the beach at
He has
become a master manipulator, and I sense the only wants to force us into
complying with his wishes.
He
needed a ride to the beach and we were his wheels.
I get quilted
into things easily, and though I get angry about it, I often do exactly what
people want me to do if they push the right buttons.
With
She
looked at the phone, then at me, then at the phone again as if she couldn’t
believe what she was hearing, and could read the manipulation more quickly.
She
tried to sound stern. But after a moment, she covered the mouthpiece with the
palm of her hand and said, “Take this will you, he’s yelling at me.”
I had
settled back into the pillow.
I could
not understand why the man refused to accept no as our answer.
Later, I
realized that he was motivated by desperation, often painting bright pictures
of a dismal reality so that others are attracted and will keep him company,
even when they become as miserable as he is in the process.
He ached
to see the beach and he wanted company, and got even angrier when I returned to
the phone and told him to find someone else.
He was
still shouting at me when I hung up, but he didn’t call back. So I presume he
got the message.