So you’re walking around, smiling, thinking life is going pretty darn well, great even. Then thunder booms and down it comes, flowing in ever larger waves crashing toward you. Sometimes you see it coming and prepare complex evasive maneuvers, sometimes your first inkling is a face plant into it.
I’m talking about crap. Crap in the metaphorical and symbolic sense, like Longfellow did with rain in his poem The Rainy Day. Let’s call it The Crappy Day.
Into every life a little crap must fall. Unavoidable fact of being alive. If you are a human being, at periodic intervals throughout your life you shall be mired in family crap, work crap, dating crap, money crap, etc. If you’re lucky it could be just a light dusting of poop like the dog vomited up a green mess of bile and chunks of stick all over the new rug (symbolic dog crap) or your car didn’t start this morning (car crap). Or it could be a metric ton droppage from the clear blue sky that buries your car with you inside it.
(This reminds of the joke about the painting “Brown Spots on the Wall” by Hu Flung Pu, which made me laugh so hard when I was a kid that I may or may not have peed my pants. Still makes me smile today).
Yet I wasn’t smiling last month when a blizzard of bullshit flew in from multiple fronts. A veritable tornado of turds. *scribbles on a napkin to trademark that bad boy. Mine. MINE.*
It began from the south. I zigged but still got hit. Then a westerly gale of brown goo roared in out of NOWHERE and knocked me down, followed up by one-two judo poop kick that hurled me into a sewage ditch Ugh, the symbolism is grossing me out. Anyhow, is this sounding familiar to anyone out there? *taps mic* A perfect storm of unrelated dominoes all falling at the same time. Worst. Week. Ever. At some time or another you’ve shoveled and crawled your way out from an enormous mound of manure into the sunshine.
Everyone has their own dung shelter/umbrella or superdupershitshovel when this blizzard hits. What works for one might not work for another, but here’s what I did.
Phase 1 (also known simply as Adele) I hid.
Hey, don’t judge me. It was a blizzard of bullshit from multiple dung directions. Hiding worked, allowing me to wallow in my misery and indignation but that got lonely. Was it unproductive? Yes. Was it necessary? Also yes.
Onto phase 2, seeking commiseration and/or validation LISTEN CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS CRAP BEING HEAVED AT ME? Those outside perspectives led directly to phase 3, which is regroup, reassess, devise a plan.
Phase 4 (today also known as DNCE’s Cake By The Ocean but you may substitute Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars or Sing by Ed Sheeran) was find my center, grab my supershitshovel and tunnel out.
So now I see the sun again. The blizzard is over, headed out east, I think, as our blizzards generally do (heads up East Coast, something stinky this way comes). The dung heaps left behind are now in manageable piles and soon will be worm rich compost for my garden. It’s the best I can do, since it’s not like I was buried under lemons or anything. I’m not Pollyanna or Mary Freaking Poppins.
Decisions have been made (good ones, I think), plans are in motion (plans I’m happy with), and I’m steadily advancing toward my goals again, although by a slightly different course, having survived the 2016 blizzard of bullshit. I’ll keep my shovel nearby for when Hu Flung Pu makes another appearance. Oh, and I’ve got spares if you should need one.
YOU CAN’T BEAT US, PU