Wishes

So I just read a little David Sedaris. (If you unfamiliar, pick up any of his books, do so now. They are everything you may hope, if you're anything like me, heaven help you.) in this brief segmentI perused, he points out that wishes are inevitable traps, and never turn out well. Reading that, i immediately set down the book, and daydreamed.
Of course wishes never turn out well. They expose the greediness of the wisher, and lead to that same greed's inevitable punishment.
"Not me, though." I thought. "I'll be smart."
See, if any selfish wish i make leads to my own self destruction, I may as well be selfless with the wish. Nothing complicated, you understand, that could in any way go awry. Nothing even too mystical, 'cause that can get tricky.
So I imagined asking the genie, or whatever it was, to let me know how to make the person I cared most about happiest. And that was it. This was a daydream, you understand, so even if I thought I was being smart, I wasn't actually. Obviously! Why, you say? (Or not.)
C'mon, the first rule of wishes is specificity! I had been criminally vague! And it likely says something important, though God knows what, that my next thoughts in this imaginary scenario are as follows, without premeditation.
So, I make my dumbass wish, and the genie type thing smiles, stubs out its cigarette, and says, "No problem. Wanna know? Go kill yourself!"
Now, this is a conundrum. I tell myself, no way! And this is okay, because in my sometimes cynical worldview, everyone is ultimately out for themselves, so there is no way I can comply with this, cau'se no one would really expect it of me. Fine! Fine.
So this imaginary me goes to bed, and then wakes up in a cold sweat. Why? Because if I'm right and everyone is ultimately selfish and incapable of altruism, then then person I care about most is...me!
So if the genie or whatever was right, and I was right, then...well, then ouch. Talk about self loathing. And that's where the fantasy sort of ended.
I've got too much free time.
Oh.
And Harald? I changed my shirt, I have to wear a hat at work, and I'm getting my gun license. And I'm sorry, but you may have meant all that, but you SAID "Doom, doom, death." So please, stop picking at my eyeballs.