We are back. I'm okay. Now. I am never given to hyperbole. Yesterday I experienced an epic event perpetrated by my ever excessive thoughts and obsessives.
I discovered that travel for me is much easier downhill than up, making it a breeze to head toward the lake (an obvious downward trajectory), bent upon hitting the dock at a maximum velocity of six point four miles per hour. At such speed, coupled with the mass of a four hundred pound chair and a two hundred pound live load, an explosion from deck to drink would seem pedestrian at best. It was. I hit liquid on the fly. Sideways. I clipped a protruding nail and lurched askew at the last second, lighting sidesaddle.
The blasted water was only a foot deep!
I lay, one eye submerged, hung in my seatbelt.
Someone saw me.
A rumble upon the pier. A splash. A mouthful of lake fluid. A scream from behind, a release at my waist. I fall forward and out of my Permobil, into the drink. Arms tug. I choke and panic (for the first time today).
Up and out. Soaked and cold, embarrassed. I am a failure and a fool and now I have upset everyone. I can't seem to lose for losing. What kind of jinx have I inherited from my past behavior? Why do I deserve such misery welded to immense frustration? When may I sign out? How? Why, you ask? Why not? If the afterlife is so great, as many believe, and my current situation sucks, as many know, what is the big holdup?
I know, I know. Dark shit, dark contemplation. Yeah. Wishing for an unknown commodity is like asking to trade your life, no matter how pathetic, for what's behind door number two (which could very well be shit).
Einstein stated that God doesn't throw dice, but He does pull wings off flies. I stand (not) as living proof.
Why do I even ponder door number two? Hell, (Freudian slip?), I don't know anything any more. Long ago I abandoned political correctness. Desperate situations call for desperate measures.
I would have plunged into our pool in the back yard but Sarah put a net over it that would prevent me from bathing.
As an end note, this entire post consists entirely of hyperbole sans factual content except for opinion. As we all know, my opinion may as well be construed as fact, thus validating all fiction expressed.
I discovered that travel for me is much easier downhill than up, making it a breeze to head toward the lake (an obvious downward trajectory), bent upon hitting the dock at a maximum velocity of six point four miles per hour. At such speed, coupled with the mass of a four hundred pound chair and a two hundred pound live load, an explosion from deck to drink would seem pedestrian at best. It was. I hit liquid on the fly. Sideways. I clipped a protruding nail and lurched askew at the last second, lighting sidesaddle.
The blasted water was only a foot deep!
I lay, one eye submerged, hung in my seatbelt.
Someone saw me.
A rumble upon the pier. A splash. A mouthful of lake fluid. A scream from behind, a release at my waist. I fall forward and out of my Permobil, into the drink. Arms tug. I choke and panic (for the first time today).
Up and out. Soaked and cold, embarrassed. I am a failure and a fool and now I have upset everyone. I can't seem to lose for losing. What kind of jinx have I inherited from my past behavior? Why do I deserve such misery welded to immense frustration? When may I sign out? How? Why, you ask? Why not? If the afterlife is so great, as many believe, and my current situation sucks, as many know, what is the big holdup?
I know, I know. Dark shit, dark contemplation. Yeah. Wishing for an unknown commodity is like asking to trade your life, no matter how pathetic, for what's behind door number two (which could very well be shit).
Einstein stated that God doesn't throw dice, but He does pull wings off flies. I stand (not) as living proof.
Why do I even ponder door number two? Hell, (Freudian slip?), I don't know anything any more. Long ago I abandoned political correctness. Desperate situations call for desperate measures.
I would have plunged into our pool in the back yard but Sarah put a net over it that would prevent me from bathing.
As an end note, this entire post consists entirely of hyperbole sans factual content except for opinion. As we all know, my opinion may as well be construed as fact, thus validating all fiction expressed.
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