Some Days You're the Windshield...

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Today I'm the bug.

Bad, bad day.

Sometimes it is so hard to maintain the facade of happy happy, putting on the cheerful patient face when all around me people are throwing sharp objects and fresh doggy doo straight at my head.

And sometimes I can’t duck fast enough.

*splat*

So after washing my face and spending a few eons feeling sorry for myself, I have to wonder, how is it possible that I am solely responsible for every single thing that has gone wrong since the beginning of time? I am only 52, so does all that blame only take effect during my singularly unspectacular lifetime, or does it stretch backwards into perpetuity? And if I am not directly responsible, I must most certainly be the cause… I’m the odds on favorite BLAME candidate (except for Presidents, of course).

Hell, if it weren't for me God probably could have had the whole thing done in five days.

I am interrupted at the beginning of a conversation with a joke or another story, so I don’t get heard. I may as well slap some duck tape on my mouth after the first couple of words.

And in public, hey, just put an apple in my mouth, for I will be spitted and barbequed for all to see.

(Hmm. Better wait on the duck tape until AFTER the apple thing…)

It doesn’t seem to matter that no one could answer those questions fired at me with such rapidity… it is I on the hotseat, I am the target.

Sooooo, apple in my mouth, check. Duck tape across my face, holding apple in, check. Wooden chair on fire to simulate hot seat, check. Target bullseye painted with bright red paint on my chest (touched up daily to keep it fresh!), check.

Am I missing anything?

Of course, I realize that all this makes me sound like I think I really AM all that important, that everyone blames me because I really do have that much power… bwaaaa ha ha ha hahahahahahahah!!!

Nah. That’s the irony of it all. I am really nothing more than a mass of unrealized potential who has made scads of mistakes compounding over the years with bad hair, a weakness for chocolate and a big butt.

So stop blaming me for stuff, please. My plate is all full and I am out of red paint.


Just Musing,
Susan


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