(or Life’s Too Short To Deal With All Your Problems)
Please don’t take anything I say too seriously. I may write something and then change my mind the next day. Or the next minute. I’m like that. I’m a flibbertigibbet. Okay, maybe not that bad, but I do change my mind a lot.
It’s not from indecision or a lack of confidence, but rather a consequence of too much information. Now, I’m not talking about the guy who is compelled to tell you about the gory details of his colonoscopy or his predilection for Asian cheerleader pantyhose porn. (That’s kind of a specific fetish, don’t you think?) No, I’m talking about living in a world where the answers to almost every question are literally in your hands. From movie trivia, to the best way to remove a stain, to the meaning of life, the solutions you are seeking are yours with no money down (pending credit approval) on our super saver data plan. But it’s also a moving target, forever changing, and it can be hard to keep up.
Speaking of too much information here is an almost completely true story. I was working in a retail store which sold, among other things, baby furniture. One day a woman came in to return a crib. She was a little too old for motherhood do I figured it’s the grandmother who bought something as a gift. So I’m filling out the paperwork and I get to the inevitable question, “Why are you returning this?” She looked right at me with a cold stare, and with a calm and dispassionate voice replied,“The baby died.”
Just like that. Wow. Not “We don’t need it anymore.” or “We don’t like the colour.” No, just *wump*, dead baby. There you go. Thanks, that wasn’t awkward at all. I’m not trying to be insensitive. I realize she must be grieving, but sheesh! That reminds me of that (alleged) Hemingway story about baby shoes.
So, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, right. We have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to knowledge. What we seem to lack is a certain wisdom and enough time to do anything with that knowledge. And focus. Especially focus.
That reminds me of the time I was feeling a little depressed so I went to see a shrink. So, I’m sitting there in the waiting room feeling all sorry for myself and the nurse comes in and says, “The doctor will see you now.” I walk into the office and the guy they’ve sent me to see LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE MY FATHER. Keep in mind that my parents divorced when I was three and my father moved to another city. (No daddy issues there.) As he starts doing his Freudian analysis, I am trying to tell him how sad I feel, all while I’m trying not to laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity of it all. Since that day, I’ve never been depressed. Good work, doctor. You cured me. Even if you didn’t know it. At least he didn’t look like my mother. That would have just been weird.
What was my point again? Oh, whatever. We are all just talking meat.
Also, people can surprise you. I wish it happened more often.
And if you have some time to waste, go and read the stories on my other blog Unlikely Realm. I’m trying to get a new story up every week!