It wasn't me, but it coulda been

Hey, all -- this is NOT my blog for the day, but I read this on a friend's blog and HAD to share. This is so quintessentially my experience that I wish I'd written it myself.

You knew I needed to get up for Hebrew class this morning, and you woke me gently and quietly, the same way you always do. But instead of the usual dream-filled smile and loving pat, as the remnant of sleep drifted away, I fixed you with a vicious glare. I didn't expect myself to do that. I don't know why I did. Maybe because I was short on sleep, I acted that way. I know it was wrong, and it isn't the way I really feel, I promise. I'm so sorry. Your face was chilled in the air from the window--the air that reached you because you were close to my bed--because you cared for me. And when my palm hit that loving face of yours, something broke inside me. I can't live like this, knowing that I hurt you. How can I explain this to you--you who saw the hatred in my eyes, my animalistic passion, and my primitive blow. No apology can erase such a memory, but I beg you, forget what you can and have mercy on my unfortunate heart. Let me convince you I meant none of it. "I didn't mean it"--such a hackneyed phrase, but how true it is! How readily I return to you once the contemptible passion of the moment subsides. Forgive me, I pray, dear alarm clock. I will henceforth be true.

~sam v