If it's not working now, maybe later, maybe then. Maybe we can count on that. A craving for toast and eggs pops up. Anyone could die tomorrow, right? Luck of the draw. Hit by a bus, a train, whatever. A craving for comfort emerges. So human, so predictable. Tax time can do that to a person. It's those damn numbers. Addition, subtraction. Anybody could die tomorrow, get hit by a bus, a car, or a baseball bat. That's fate. The numbers! Oh my god and the dollars, the astrologers and their starry constellations. It's inevitable, it's statistical. It's the numbers. 8:39 a.m. Stage IV cancer. Wish for luck. It's all about the time you've got left divided by the sum of your bucks. 8:41 a.m. Stage IV cancer and still holding. No wait! Ignore the stats! Lotteries galore. Luck or divine intervention? Can less be better than more? Sure! It's about your time left on earth, divided by the roil of chaos and death. It's a mess. Luck equals personal interpretation of the irrational. You make up a fairytale.
Is there really any difference between plain old luck and fantastical thinking? If I hadn't opened that door when you were sitting in the tree...what then? Luck equals the irrational in collaboration with the magical. Where would we be now, if I hadn't unlocked the lock? You see? Voila! Here we are. If I hadn't opened that door when you were sitting in the tree...what then? We wouldn't have gotten our red-haired terrier, declared our love, moved in together. Where would we be now, if I hadn't turned the knob? But here we are. The circumstances decreed it, the universe arranged it. You can't always expect things to work out, though. Oh no. Luck can be fickle. It's tricky. You can structure your luck if you tell the right story, hatch a plot, get psychic, get smart. If it's not working now, maybe later, maybe then, when the stars all align. Wait for a sign. There has to be a meaning, a purpose to the accident, the forest fire, the crumpled wreck. Right? Just make up a story, give it lots of chutzpah. Will time really tell before the bell tolls? There has to be a meaning, a purpose to wars, to hate, to all of the terribles. Isn't that so? Isn't that right? I don't know.
Memo to Jeff - we work because we can't think of anything else we'd rather do. That's the pathetic part. Memo to PJ - days left divided by savings? That is totally messing with my head this morning.
Posted by: Harlan Lewps | Tuesday, July 17, 2012 at 09:07 AM
Great short. So much said in so little space. What the hell am I doing with all of this working?
Posted by: Jeff | Monday, July 16, 2012 at 11:41 PM