Space abhors a vacuum. I’m on a campaign to keep a more positive outlook. That leaves me with a challenge. When I look at the harsh realities of life, how do I keep from regurgitating the bile of negativity onto the shoes of the innocent reader?
That blank screen mocks me. In desperation, I look up the length of the average small intestine (23 feet). Calm down, take a breath. I absolutely refuse to write about heinous atrocities like peeing in the shower, or the Rolling Stones going on tour again.
Sometimes I just look up to the sky and say two simple words: “Thank you.” It always makes me smile. It’s not that fake smile you paste on your face before going into Uber Mart, so you don’t throttle the woman who refuses to move her cart while she’s looking for the perfect hair color. I just want a shower cap, for Pete’s sake. Move your fat … cart. (ahem)
In a world full of construction zones with ridiculously slow speed limits, bright orange and white barrels, and no visible workers constructing, it’s hard to keep your blood pressure down. This is an obvious metaphor for (fill in your own crappy stuff).
I’m swearing off downers like newspapers, egg salad sandwiches, and re-runs of Survivor. To fill the void, I’ve been reading more. In the end, the guy gets the girl, the hero overcomes all obstacles, and everyone lives happily ever after. You couldn’t ask for better than that unless aliens came down and abducted Justin Bieber.
So try looking for the good in others (except that lady at Uber Mart). I promise you, it’s better than learning about the gastrointestinal system.