I awake in the middle of the night and realize that all of the stars aren’t aligned and are shooting into each other. I awake in the morning and realize that the clouds are grazing my house like it’s a 2012, Mayan, magnetic rod waiting to be struck by lightening. I awake and realize that a nuclear bomb is sticking straight out from underneath my simple, mundane house, just waiting for a switch to flip.
I can’t close my eyes tight enough. Not tight enough to block the light of reality. Not tight enough to block my disbelief in humanity. Not tight enough to break my disdain with my vulnerable body. Not tight enough to make it all go away.
I can’t gain control enough to make the world come together in my own hands. The world being my simple life with simple people and simple things. I’m the supporting character waiting for the lead to strike it rich, so I can move up a number. I’m waiting for my loved ones to acknowledge that I matter, that I’m in the room and my verbal spit isn’t just a broken faucet spraying dirty water.
We all have perfect moments. Fantastic moments even, but what about the sh!tastic moments, where our negative thoughts run rampant. The ones where we crawl away and hide, like a tortoise with a thick shell, living long, slow years, waiting for wise but sheltered thoughts…and we find only profound crap. The ones where we hit ourselves with a mental nine iron and fly away for a hole in one, but end up in the wrong hole.
You just can’t control your sh!t. You wish you could control it when it comes out. You wish you could control it when it stays in and let it out at the right moment. The perfect, blue ribbon or golden sh!t…but you end up with the bronze. There is no mental absorption thick enough or soft enough to wipe up the sh!t that you spew. It’s sh!tastic. What a sh!tastic, imperfect morning.