In all the wrong directions, and using what I love to do it: The New York Times. I'm an optimistic person and deal well with stress. I don't freak out. Maybe I just have two copies of a gene dealing with Seratonin that puts me in the 'low-risk' group for depression.
There's something troubling about writing off this essential part of me, that I take a lot of pride in, as genetic. It says, "hey, you can't take credit for these anymore, someone gave 'em to you and could've easily given you the two genes that put you in the 'high-risk' group for depression.
Of course, changing rails and getting on the religious train, you could say God designed this trait in me, and probably did it for a reason. I should count myself as lucky, maybe anxious to see what comes of it. I'm so jaded with religion that this doesn't make me happy or satisfied, and that's a little upsetting.
People aren't entirely responsible for the things that happen to them, but they are somewhat. Certain genes can make you more likely to get mugged. For example, if someone seeks experience and adventure, they're more likely to walk down seedy streets and encounter a mugger.
So that's me. Suddenly the kid pre-disposed to a lot more things and responsible for a lot less. This is a certain blow to the ego.
Another blow: a strange bump/cyst below my wrist. I've had it for as long as I can remember, but today it started to bother me. I should get it checked.
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