Sunday, May 23, 2010

When life imitates art...

So, I'm having a crappy week, which turns into a shitty weekend and I'm thinking to myself . . . why can't I just write my way out of this? Or go back and do edits on my life? Wouldn't that be nice? Yeah, it would. Too bad I can't, in all of my supposed talent, make it happen.

The red pen would be all over the pages of my life. A bloody, gory display of all the mistakes and idiotic descisions I've made throughout my almost 40 years of life.

I wish we all had referees in life. There would be this guy standing on the sidelines, maybe he's wearing the obligitory black and white striped shirt. Maybe he's dressed like the Grim Reaper. But anyways, he standing there, just waiting for you to fuck up. And when you do, he calls an "off sides" or a "foul" or whatever other sports term you'd like to plug in there. But at least, someone would be there to catch you when you're doing something really stupid. Something you don't even realize is going to create a bad outcome when it all plays out.

But it's too late, the ripple is set in motion and you can't stop the ripples rolling over the water any more than you can stop the rock from being thrown in. Maybe these things are meant to happen. Perhaps its the reason we don't  have referees in life. If we did, we might not learn what we should have from said fuck-up. Maybe that's the point of it all.

Maybe our referees are our friends? But what happens when your friends don't stop you or they are the cause of the fuck-up? WHAT THEN?? I guess when it comes right down to it, you really only have yourself to blame.

Solution: I think I'm gonna hire a guy to follow me around to watch out for potential fuck-ups. I might even make him wear the stripes . . . but it's negotiable.

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