I’m a studious individual. The time nestled between when I first wince and rise to meet the sun until I fall over like a sack of lead yams at night… it is sacred. My religion? Getting sh*t done, bro. Doing the dishes, making a doctor’s appointment, painting, writing, feeding the loaches, yelling at the cats, buying groceries, paying hidden fees. Fist bump. The only problem is that more often than not, life gets in the way and fogs up the lens of progress. You know what I’m talking about.
First of all, there’s work. What is it good for? Absolutely nothin’, say it again ya’ll. Well, it pays for shelter, canned aerosol cheese, and smartphones. I just… I don’t remember asking for any of that crap. Nobody came floating about all willy-nilly in the ether and said, “Hey, Johnny Beaver, you mind if you get born? It’ll be awesome. Humankind is on a roll… you get to have lots of stuff that you either don’t want, or used to be free in the greater Paleolithic for the low, low price of indentured servitude.” I would have popped that sucker in the grill. Just sayin’.
Next up, humans. Two legs, two arms… selfish, thick-skulled and responsible for Lars Ulrich and waterboarding. Calling my phone, driving around in their automobiles, making noise, pushing buttons, laughing, playing with their ear wax. Posting selfies, farting, and drowning in onion dip while watching The Vampire Diaries. If that weren’t bad enough, they poop and pee, too. Don’t even get me started. Every time that toilet flushes and goes round and round like a turbine, fecal particles are thrown into the air. There’s a guy who hacks up a lung outside of my apartment at 8 a.m. every day, and it ruins my appetite.
Speaking of appetite, food gets in the way like no other. Okay, okay, so food is great; it tastes good, defenseless animals are made out of it. But think about it: you have to buy it, take it home, unwrap it, sprinkle bits of it onto other bits and stir those bits…. ::breathes:: and then you have to put it inside of stuff and make it hot, then wait a bit longer. Then sit down, chow down, and spend twice that time washing the dishes. I mean, good Lord, what craven, hasty-witted hedge-pig thought this system up? Wouldn’t things be a lot easier if we just ate air? You want a sustainable, organic meal, just dig into some rich, creamy air.
Anyway. One theory is that taking the time to stop and smell the roses will lead to a more optimistic outlook, a more satisfying daily life. Sure thing, I’ll get to that right after I get gas, drop off my prescriptions, vacuum the stairs, do about two hours of work for a job I don’t even have anymore, and solve Fermat’s Last Theorem.