One of the reasons I find life so painful is that, when boiled down, it’s just a series of little messes and pains. Cat puke on the carpet, an overflowed bathtub, stubbed toes, spilt milk. And yeah, there’s no use crying over it, any of this, but reality chips away at me with a chisel made of irritation.
Knicks and scratches and bruises and stains and nothing staying clean for more than a day. Whether it’s home or work, physical or emotional, these things follow me everywhere. Life is a never-ending cycle of maintenance of things I don’t particularly care about, including my body.
Some days, it’s not so bad. Other, better stuff supersedes life’s daily demands. Or I’m neutral, and these things aren’t infuriating, just background. Sometimes, I’m euphoric — everything has a rosy hue and every inconvenience becomes a line in a convoluted, but very funny poem. Other days, it’s an endless list of worries.
New pimple. My feet hurt. My back feels funny. Why am I having chest pain? I forgot to eat lunch again. My clothes aren’t sitting right. My hair looks bad. Do I smell? I forgot to put on deodorant.
It’s a perpetual spiral, circling down, down, down and only when you reach the end, the drip of life ceases.
I must acknowledge: Many peoples’ messes and pains are bigger and less trite than mine. But we all have the small ones, don’t we? Can’t we agree that if you hit your funny bone or something when you’re in a pissy mood, it just sends you through the roof? Maybe it’s just me, but I hope you understand.
I somehow find life’s biggest quandaries and agonies more palatable than a series of small pains. There’s nothing I can do about the big stuff. I can take it a moment at a time and cope. I can get away with being angry or upset or confused. But the little pains grate away at me, and I can’t exactly express how upset I am at the series of inconveniences I’m experiencing, because they look like nothing.
Being human — having a body — is strange and heavy and weird. My mind is the only reason to keep my body around. If I had my druthers, I’d be a gust of wind, everywhere and nowhere, forever.
Ironically, I hate the wind. It’s uncomfortable and messes up my hair. Go figure.