to get involved in the exchange of human emotions is ever so, ever so satisfying

Writing is losing its antidotal efficacy, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out before I succumb to the affliction of animal impulse. The only thing I can’t resist is temptation, and if satisfaction is the death of desire, then I am feeling positively murderous.

Thinkpol sirens start blaring, and I’m immediately apprehended without resistance. Facing trial yet again, accused of the same potential crime - I think these proceedings are up to centuple jeopardy by now. “The prisoner who now stands before you was caught red-handed showing feelings,” begins opposing counsel, presenting opening arguments. Prosecution rests, and it is my turn. I’ve seen the courtroom dramas. I know what to do.

Emulating Alicia Florrick and Mike Ross, I stay up all night, burying my head in thick and dusty law volumes, scrutinizing every statute, regulation, and ordinance in a relentless search for a loophole that will get the indictment thrown out or the judgement overturned. I plead my case with gesticulated fervor, throwing in the occasional “habeas corpus”and “if it please the court” for the proper flair. But for all the pomp and circumstance of my performance, I am outdone by a judge who shouts “bologna!”And try as I might to present a perfectly compelling argument, the ruling handed down never changes; justifications are not grounds for dismissal or repeal.

Do I want to break the law? Yes. When your name pops up on the screen, there is almost nothing that I want more. At the end of the day, though, the only thing that I do want more is - for once in my damn life - to be a decent person. Despite the aforementioned allusions, this isn’t 1984, and this isn’t Minority Report. Thoughts are thoughts. How you act on thoughts is what makes you a decent person.