September 26, 2013
At precisely a quarter of six there is a click and a whirl in perfect time with the change of the digital read out. Electricity flows and is married with mechanical mechanism in a private ceremony in a plastic chapel. As with any successful marriage, heat is produced. The temperature of dormant, tepidly cool water which lies above begins to rise as a result. Evaporation; the water rises to the concave ceiling. Condensation; finds itself trapped. Perspiration: it is forced to redirect itself and fall as it returns to its original state. Drip, drop, drip, drop! Down onto an alien surface of mulched plant life. Seeping quickly into the loose soil, taking on its traits and discoloration as it goes. A filtering pause to collect itself followed by a suicide drop. Forever down onto a smooth clear barren surface with walls to match. Imprisoned? Alone? Not for long as it will be joined by hundreds if not thousands of other who will unite in the daily task of filling the carafe.
A complicated somewhat overly descriptive way of saying the coffee pot came on. It’s aroma will waft through the house, seek out its residents and beckon them to rise. Though the alarm may awaken, that aroma is what pulls a body from the bed. It’s on its own this morning for the alarm is silent. Its toll of doom will not sound. Silent because the weekend is in mid swing.
Legs swing happily from beneath the covers, knowing they’ll be marching to their own beat today. Best to dress for the occasion they think. Seeking out and sliding into the soft comfort of those faded, well worn favorite jeans.
Pause for analogy—Is life is like your favorite pair of comfy jeans? When first bought they are often stiff and unyielding. It usually takes a few washes before they start to conform to one’s own dimensions. As time passes with each washing and wearing putting them on is a more welcome and oft un-noted activity. By the time they have reached their peak of perfection they’re damned near worn out. Then it’s only a matter of time. A tear, a rip, a seam splits and it becomes a question of how many more rinse cycles can they survive? Sometimes we patch them, stitch them, cut them into shorts or just keep on wearing them till one day...the damage is too great or we tire of getting our toes caught in the ever expanding knee hole. Hmmm interesting analogy but it doesn’t feel right. Maybe life is like something else...a box of chocolates perhaps?
Maybe Mr. Gump was onto something when he made that observation. However there’s a problem with the “you never know what you’re gonna get” part. Most boxes of chocolate have a listing of what each one is printed in the top of the lid. So unless you’re an idiot or can’t read you know exactly what you’re going to get. Sorry Forrest, life is not like a box of chocolates. Maybe it’s like something else.
Maybe life is like a poop. It stinks. Sometimes it’s hard, other times it just runs right out. Sometimes there’s corn in there and you’re like, “When the f*** did I eat corn?” or a peanut...OK, we’ll stop there and just assume that life and poop, despite some similarities, are nothing alike.
Maybe life is like something else. Wait! If you dumped a box of chocolates, into your favorite jeans, you’d look like you made a poop! Ah ha, now we’re on to something. So by this conclusion we can ascertain that Life is like pooping chocolate in your pants! It’s unexpected, uncomfortable, it can be sweet but if you stick your hand in there you never know what you’re gonna get.
OK, I’ll say it for you- WTF? Life is like something else but you already knew that because you’re living it. Keep up the good work and don’t sit in chocolate.
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