Character flaws often reveal themselves in the most benign and un-trying circumstances. For example, this morning I was making pancakes with Liontamer and I grew very impatient wanting to flip the pancake over. Perhaps if I had mixed the batter from scratch, rather than added 2/3 cup of water and stirred, I would have been better prepared mentally to wait for the signs to flip.
Maybe for some, there is a visceral pleasure in watching the sides of the pancake harden and brown, and the middle batter begin to bubble and pop. Like the hunter waiting and watching, camouflaged by the shadows of the forest, there is a moment of anticipation that exceeds the pleasure of pulling the trigger. It is a feeling to fuel any megalomaniac--a taste of the divine. "I am the instrument of change in the universe," the hunter says as the sweat begins to trickle down the brow, below the cheek bone. And so, up comes the spatula, an eager instrument of Khali, dirty with the remains of all the pancakes that came before, poised to become dirtier still with its latest victim.
Yet, I am sadly lacking the control, the inner strength of the great warriors. I break too soon, and so does the pancake, goopy in the middle, leaving half of the batter still stuck to the pan. My feast will not be one of celebration, of triumph--it will be one of resignation and failure. I will eat my thin and crumbling pancake, massacred as it was with my desire--the burst blueberries open wounds of a desperate cook. I consider the prospect of buying the frozen pancakes and simply heating them in the microwave--I am ashamed of myself. I have given in to the wild and allowed it to defeat me.
I hand the spatula to Liontamer, heart sick, and ask him to finish. He slides one, two, then three pancakes onto my plate in rapid succession. All perfect, all trembling as I uplift my fork. I have lost this battle, but I take heart. Liontamer is helpless when it comes to grocery shopping.