Cool Intentions

There happens to be this bizarre notion floating around these days, bobbing up and down like a pet desperate to please. There it is, this notion of ours, nominally submerged in a spring-fed pond, as bored swans wisely ignore its dangerous logic on their way to a nested fete. Intent doesn’t matter, huh?

Not to me it doesn’t. When an Amazon package shows up in my mailbox, filling the space so no other mail can easily get in – I open it. Why should I bother to first see if my name is on the label? It’s in my home, isn’t it? Precisely. Once the mail crosses that invisible threshold it’s mine. With this package philosophy guiding all home deliveries, you might think I own plenty of items I don’t need. Things that weren’t meant for me. While it’s true that I didn’t need them at first, I’ve come to embrace these boxes like lost souls looking for a better life. Their arrival on my doorstep is proof of fate. Plus, Amazon has such a good return policy, there’s no need for the sender to enlist a search party for the missing. They'll get a second chance.

The whole concept of accidents is a foolish waste of mental energy. Whether or not I meant to scald my toes and ruin my slippers with a pot of fresh coffee is irrelevant. That I did is all that matters. My slippers don’t care that it wasn’t my “intention.” They only care that they smell of a cheap diner’s stack of used cardboard sleeves sticking out of the garbage. And my toes? They felt the burn all the same. In other words, they got the message. 

You see, I could say that I didn’t “mean” to spill coffee or that some old lady didn’t mean to send me an expensive stereo, since it was clearly a wedding present for her grand-nephew. But those facts are the facts. That hi-fi is mine because I received it. My toes are bolder than most French roasts now. That’s the reality and there’s no way getting around it. 

And I wasn’t trying to hit you in the face with a fresh, icy snowball. But you walked into the blind spot of my wind up and got a frosty projectile right in the kisser. I could say that I was aiming for something besides your head. Would you believe me? Would you care? 

So don’t take this the wrong way. Not that it would matter.