There is some order to the universe, or I used to believe there was. Like, if you are driving a minivan, you have no business wearing a cowboy hat. If you are wearing a cowboy hat, then you may not wear flip flops. If you are wearing flip flops, then you have no grounds to be intimidating. If you have a reputation of being intimidating, then your reputation is ruined the minute you say "my grama, who goes to church, says the world won't end in 2012."
This Universal Order is totally fucked. Sorry boys and girls. I usually try to keep the language content reasonable, for all 4 of my readers. But it's true. It turns out that whatever entity was keeping cosmic order went to fucking lunch.
What downer this post has turned out to be, but you know what? Usually I'm quirky and fun, but now I guess I don't have to be. Since the rest of creation doesn't have to follow the rules, why should I? Since everyone else can go out in public in tube tops and yell as loudly as possible at the prescription window at Walgreens about their ailments, why can't I write a depressing post?
My dad, a previously invincible man, is dying of brain cancer. We found out three months ago, and he's not going to last much longer. This is lame. This is out of order. This is not OK. My dad used to be able to kick the top of the door jam, now he can't even talk. So many other people need to be dying of brain cancer instead of him. I know that's not a nice thing to say, and I don't care. I don't have anything inspiring or intelligent to say about it. I don't think it's part of a bigger plan. I think it's fucked.
So there's that.
Well, because I enjoy the word fuck, I appreciated this blog immensely. As for Order of the Universe, well, Assholes Finish First, so why wouldn't our amazing dad finish last. In a first sort of way.
ReplyDeleteI don't think people realize, how difficult it is, to have parents that live off the grid, and are involved in 900 projects at one time how awful it is to see their former self sitting in a vertical-striped felt robe, deciding which t-bone steak to buy from the gas station. In Datil. They don't give a fuck about Dancing With the Stars, or how many Dugger babies that Mormon whore is going to Tabernacle Choir out of her Holy Twat Hole. They live. They do. They are. To have this broken, is similar to an abortion. Or a tsunami. Or an antique store being vandalized and robbed and graffitied.
So, should a plus sized, hormonally imbalanced mother of 3 drive a Daewoo? No. Should an average sized, flip flop wearing, pot smoking mother of three drive a Daewoo? Yes.
What was the point of this conversation? Sadness, emptiness and the realization that I am morbidly obese.
The point of this conversation? Sadness? emptiness? obesity? fucked universes? cowboy hats? scary futures? regret? minivans? flip flops? vulnerable parents? Daewoos? Universal Orders not be orderly?
ReplyDeleteNo one knows but a little girl in a sunflower dress and another little girl eating grandmas gum....
Then there's this.....