A fire extinguisher filled with kerosene

I got into a disagreement with an old friend, without intending to. It was one of those weird situations where everything I said or did managed to make the situation worse. I felt as though I was carrying around a fire extinguisher filled with kerosene.

In a way it was like that wonderful Woody Allen short story The Gossage—Vardebedian Papers, in which the two characters find themselves inhabiting diverging realities. It’s very amusing when you read about it as fiction, but quite unsettling when you yourself are one of those characters.

On the other hand, I am finding that this experience has made me enormously appreciative of the relative normalcy of my other human connections. My Theory of Mind has moved into high gear, and I’m working much harder to understand the point of view of other people.

Which can’t be all bad.

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