I’m a gadget person. Always have been. I love my technology and my doodads. The way one thing triggers another, moves another. I love all things mechanical, from engines to whimmydiddles. (yes that is a thing, Google). I bought a new gadget. I love the mechanics of it. I like the way it feels in my hand. I like its weight. Taking it apart and cleaning it and putting it back together again is therapeutic in its detail. I like its reliability, and take comfort in it.
I am a happy person. I’m easy going, and like to talk. I believe in the sanctity of life: that all life is precious. I’m pretty non confrontational. I would rather work things out than argue. I have never been in a fight, never struck another person in anger. I abhor violence with a visceral revulsion. A friend offered to teach me martial arts. I had to strike his hand so he could gauge my strength. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t even allow toy guns in my home.
I have a new gadget. Its singular purpose goes against every thing that I am. It’s the same gadget. How can one ‘thing’ evoke feelings of such dichotomy, fascination and repulsion, at the same time? I am struggling to reconcile the proximity of force with the new of the gadget. The security it offers with the lethal potential at my fingertips. And the new is starting to wear off. I wonder if I will wind up hating it. I hope not; it’s a wonder of modern engineering and precision. I am afraid of it. There is real fear in me when I handle it. Maybe that will wear off too. Fear is not something I’m used to feeling. I’m not a small person, but I have never needed to defend myself either. That being said, I do have a temper. One I keep under tight control. I haven’t lost my temper since I was 15. I will never lose it again. I can’t. Not now. Never again. I think… I think that what I may be afraid of is my own potential for violence. I am afraid that I will hurt someone, because I know that once I decide to do it, I will follow through. I’m not afraid of the gun, I’m afraid of myself.
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