There's a whole lot of lassitude and torpidity happening here for me today. It is, no doubt, brought about by an even greater amount of self-pity. If there is one thing I am especially accomplished at doing it is feeling sorry for myself. As my childhood hero Will Sonnet would say-"No brag, just fact."
You may wonder what has transpired to bring my countenance so low. Then again you might not give a tinker's damn about my countenance, you're just bored and reading random things on the internet. No matter, you're here and I am compelled to tell you the cause of my distress. Tuna.
Tuna itself is not evil. It's just a fish. Eating tuna is not evil either, though to my vegan and vegetarian friends may argue with me there. I like to eat tuna and because I do I generally purchase it in mass quantities at Costco. Yesterday I was craving tuna so I went to my pantry, picked out a can and pulled all the other ingredients I wanted in my tuna. Mayonnaise, dill pickles, shallots, lemon zest, celery and cheddar cheese were all carefully placed on my kitchen island along with a bowl and few other implements of de/construction.
So far things are sounding normal to you, right? I should probably tell you at this point that during a trip to see Cumberland Falls I tripped and fell. It was a gravitational assault of near biblical proportions. People came running to help the poor roly-poly lady who was face down on the ground. During my sidewalk swan dive I managed to hurt my left wrist, my right knee and we won't even mention the bruising my dignity received. Not only that but I have degenerative disc disease in my back and have already lost 40% of the use of my hands. I am always an accident looking for a place to happen. I tell you all this because I want you to know that it took some amount of effort and pain to compile all the ingredients I needed to satisfy my culinary cravings. In fact, I had one heck of a time trying to use my can opener to open the tuna. Diligence and ingenuity prevailed....almost.
I got the tuna open. I began seasoning it, smooshing it and adding all the ingredients. I went to open the new jar of pickles and nothing happened. I gripped the jar in one hand, holding it close to my body and with the other I clamped on to the lid as if my very life depended on it. The only thing that happened then was a nerve shot of pain going up and down the outside of my left arm. From pinky to funny bone it felt not unlike being zapped with a cattle prod. Frankly, that ticked me off. I began to wrestle with jar of pickles, I did everything I could think of except try the ball peen hammer in my tool box. I was undone by a jar of kosher dills and I have been feeling sorry for myself from that moment to this.
"God!" I screamed, "Why do I have to live alone? Why do I have to have hands that don't work right and a body racked with pain? Why do I have to feel guilty for being ticked off about not being able to open a flipping jar of pickles? Surely you have other people you can mess with, why does it have to be me? Why not pick on the bad guys for a while?!" Those are the Cliff Notes of our conversation....er my rant. It got pretty ugly and there were some unsanctified words said as I carried on about how little God has gotten right in my life as I have designed it.
Yeah, there's a lot of lassitude and torpidity happening here. The awful part is that I know gratitude and humility on my part could change all that. Well, that, an electric can opener and taking the time to surf the net for something that will help me open jars.
I'll do that later. Right now I am taking a nap.