Currently rating high on my fairly
extensive worry list (not in order of importance):
I have given a vast amount of thought
to buying a swimsuit that doesn't make me look too much like a seal
(aka shark dinner), so I buy bathers that make me look like a tropical
fish, or a pasty and confusing extra in an 80's cigarette commercial
so that I can avoid getting chomped by a shark. I spend a lot of
time worrying about myself, my success, my happiness, my wrinkles, my cellulite and then finally my loved ones and have vivid visions of
getting hit by a bus and sometimes wonder how it would feel, I also
have an unnatural fear of worms in strawberries and the descent of
man into madness, oh and I worry about being painfully lonely. I like to read
magazines a fair bit (for the pictures, not the articles) and wish I
had loads, loads more money. So what is my god damn point?!!! Well recently a friend of mine showed me a little perspective, so I'd like to use this monkey-yelling-table-platform to share what I have learnt.
LIFE: If you're lucky enough to survive
the birth canal you'll come into this world firstly asking why
placenta tastes so yummy, but looks so gross, and then you'll reach
your arms up to the great and almighty God of halogen hospital lamps
and question “Why-why? Cry-cry!”. (It's an annoying rhyme.)
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| Here is a picture of a Furby cupcake to represent new life. Look at his pleading little hands, he's so vulnerable and confused. |
- Food
- Hugs and hand holding
- Toys and bed jumping
Then someone might introduce you to a
god, but you're still young enough and wise enough to realise that
this god concept is less important than your toy collection and food.
Then a bit later on, if you're lucky,
you'll be concerned with sex/boys/girls and bed jumping (the toys
will still feature)
Then you'll ask yourself why people
take so many selfies and put them on facebook
(insert picture of a terribly awful
facebook selfie)
Other things that may concern you:
- sun burn
- buy a cat and wish it was a puppy
- step on a slug
- jealousy
- war
- pedophiles
- see a doctor about a weird mole/rash/ itch
- loose a lot of money
- make more money than you dreamed of as a kid and yet you don't use your riches to buy truck loads of lollies (this was the wrong choice by the way).
You might listen to Simon and Garfunkel
and wish you were in New York at their concert in Central Park in the
80's, mostly because it was free and you'd get to tell people “I
was there” and that would definitely help give your life meaning,
especially if facebook was invented then and you could post “Jst
hang w Paul & Art in the Park, wat the fck w the q for the
toilet?”.
Then you might get really lucky and
find somebody to love (cue “Queen” medley), then you have babies who also
pray to the god of halogen lamps and it gives your life meaning. If
your life was a movie it would be called “YOU: GREAT CREATOR OF
LIFE. BAM!” You have things sorted, sigh.
When you finally forget about how you felt in
that magic moment when you created life once again you return to your
toys and maybe to the question of “Why?” Ah, the endless cycle of
questioning “Why, why, why!”
Then, if you're lucky enough to get old
enough and to that point where you're very busy with your search you
wake up one day and realise your eyes have gone, the balls are still
there, but they function at 50% and you ignored it for a long time.
Shit. It will make you super grumpy and cantankerous.
 |
| Furby has taken a turn for the worse. In this picture he still has his eyes, but he looks so sad so I thought I'd use it. |
And then, if you're lucky enough to get
old and to that point you realise you can't taste the same as you
used to. You'll add salt to everything, but not pepper, until
everything taste like a saline rinse on your gammy gums and you'll
rinse you futuristic contacts in your porridge by accident and then
you'll get fucking grumpy.
And then, if you're lucky enough to get old and to that point, you might not be able to do a pooh without someone lending you a giant nappy and you'll feel like you're insides no longer belong to you. Crap (literally).
 |
| Furby is up shit creek. |
| And then, if you're lucky enough to get old enough and to get to that point, you'll need someone else to help you breath and some young doctor whipper snapper will be nice, they'll be friendly, but they'll never truly understand what it feels like to be half alive....and then, maybe then you'll realise that life is meaningful. Life is precious and it's a gift not to be taken for granted and worry is a tragic waste of time. Then you might crack the shits because you lost old people scrabble. |
However if you find out the meaning of
life earlier than the rest of us you might try and spread the word.
You might post a status on facebook saying: “If you can eat,
swallow, walk and breath for yourself be grateful please”. People
might listen, they might not, but you'd really want them to because
you know. You've learnt what it all means. You've been to the place
where you no longer ask, you no longer whinge about the weather, or
not having enough of everything, or a fancy this, or facebook, or
arse-monkeys, but you're simply grateful to be alive and you're going
to do all you can to enjoy the fuck out of life while its still given
to you. You might go to a grave yard and leap off all of the tomb
stones, because you can.
I haven't figured out the meaning of
life, but I would like to take a tip from a friend, who generously
tried to teach it to me. We were going to meet in Egypt for some
Egyptian fish and chips, but ran out of time. I reckon he found the greater meaning in life, If he were here I think he might say we should be happy- we get to breath, we get to sing, we get to eat cake. He may also swear a bit and talk about being fucking melodramatic. Whatever he'd really say I'm pretty sure he figured it all out
and I promise not to take his lesson for granted.
Thanks Nick, you Bell-end. I wish you
didn't have to be so smart.
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