Friday, September 19, 2008
Three Cheers for Rational Man!!!*
You know those things you really, really, really want to happen? You knew they never would, so you started pretending and then believing that you didn't really want them to? The things you think are NEVER going to come about because they're just TOO unrealistic and WAY too big a part of the exclusive and EXTREMELY painful Things-That-Never-Did-And-Never-Will-Work-Out-This-Way-So-I'll-Just-Ignore-Them cache in the hazy forefront of your mind? You know, those things, events, people, places, etc, that you're never going to get to go to, or see again, or get time with, or reconciliation with, or admittance from, or an understanding of, or immersion in, or you're never going to get to experience?
And then, you find out that you're going to get the chance to?
And you get this big, deceptively happy, really sick feeling, and start counting down the days to this event? And you somehow don't notice the big, worried, purply pouches that develop under your eyes from the crappy sleep you are getting, or your inability to pay attention to absolutely anything, or the low priority you find yourself affixing to everything but the petty and unimportant things that will boost this future event?
Along the way, you don't really seem to be able to think anything out, ANYTHING, because the Rational part of your psyche has been BRUTALLY TRAPPED in a tiny, dark, cement bomb shelter in the back of your mind by big stupid squashing hopes like Love and Understanding and The Thought of Peaceful, Mature Closure since the day you found out this event might happen. Since that day, Rational Man has been valiantly trying to scratch his way out of said bomb shelter with a plastic picnic spoon, sweating to reach the obliviously euphoric majority of your mind in order to give you a sorely needed REALITY CHECK before said event actually happens? And then, it's like, a few precious days before this thing is going to happen? And by some miracle, there's a huge, smelly bomb dropped in the back of your head, and little, baby Rational Man comes flying out of the shelter, lands in the front of your mind, rakes his plastic picnic spoon enthusiastically across the tissue behind your throbbing eyeballs a half dozen times, and goes,
*(also, three just as enthusiastic cheers for Roy Lichtenstein)
at 4:28 PM