After three years living in a small city, Jenna noticed she had developed prejudicial attitudes she was unaware she carried within her. This caused her some disappointment as she thought she might be above these things. But alas, no.
Certain types of people began to annoy her. Those ringing up sales in takeout places were the worst. They probably had their reasons. She found them hostile but perhaps they found her arrogant or just unworthy of any niceties. Maybe it wasn't even about her, but the woman before her. Maybe we mirror each other's stress and we will all eventually break. God will have to declare it a default and take heart with the natural world, while humanity chokes on its rabid artificiality. She was not even certain about this God of all-power. Such were the dire thoughts Jenna had while walking home on an gray afternoon, worn out from her temp job and the endless job search that seemed to yield not much of anything.
Perhaps I should go to the back to the country and remove myself from disheartening appraisals, she thought to herself. She worried that the city propels hostility and that she wasn't immune. Relaxed in the country she wouldn't have to worry over her insidious thoughts which she felt were somewhat justified as all racists do. She certainly never thought of herself as racist but then we never do. She concluded that she was not even sure what the exact definition of "racist" was as the word has become a cultural weapon. This she knew from working on a certain senator's political campaign during college. She had been raised in a liberal home, her parents were college professors, and she was never allowed to feel superior to anyone. The word "racist" had dark propensities akin to "murderer."
She continued up Market Street thinking about why so many people are born and how it keeps on going and why. It seemed to her the human experiment was not the success it was supposed to be, but a mishap of sorts. There are too many of us born in nothingness, she mused, although she did not include herself in this equation coming from a middle-class, educated home, but since she recognized her prejudices, she included herself in the great failed miasma, so astounding was her guilt in these matters.
On arriving home, she saw her mailbox contained a brochure from an urban peace organization she had once given money to. Some people are more optimistic she thought to herself upon entering her apartment. They think the world has much to offer and is worthy of building. They could look at a larger tableau and ignore rude cashiers. To them she aspired.
She was wearing down. No one told her life would be so hard in a city. She was led to believe she could have a jolly life, with dates, dinners, nice clothes and friendship. Instead she was mired in penny-pinching and thrift stores, poor food and sagging self-esteem. Her parents had no idea of her state and she didn't tell them. She was raised not to whine about things but to buck up and deal with what life offered. Her father was French and his favorite expression was "You just have to cope." Anyway, they were on a mission in Zimbabwe and couldn't help her.
Jenna could only speculate on all of this in the privacy of her own mind. She had been taught to see the ills of the world and to do her part in alleviating them. Instead she wished she could meet someone in a bar, have dinner in a nice restaurant and forget the world. She wished she could buy new clothes and have her hair highlighted. Her mother might call her superficial and she supposed she was. To each his own, she thought woefully but filled out the form on the back of the brochure letting the organizers know when she was available for volunteer shifts. She then reheated last night's takeout, another day of futile effort over with.
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