Let’s Agree To Disgruntle
I’m not concerned about any long term prognosis anymore, said Jonas, but what about short term?
Well, look at the headlines on any given day, replied his benchmate, Phil. It’s a great day when the headline is just some local yokel robbing a bodega at gunpoint without actually firing the damn thing. A non-stop flow of political and financial corruption, and the ever busy Acts of God — volcanos, earthquakes, withholding rain over wildfires. Keeps the gambling racket of insurance companies in business.
Phil, Phil. I’m talking about my body, my doctor, you’re not listening, you’re digressing — it’s always the-world-this and the-world-that.
Sure I’m listening. Just some redirection, distraction. Think of that thief that robs the store as an analogy of a smashed toe caught on the coffee table. Bruised, sure, maybe the nail will even fall of, but other than a pain-twisted face and maybe a limp for a few days, the show goes on. The ways of the body and the world.
I’m 73, Phil. Five years ago I injured my arm — it took over a year to heal. Since then there’s something new every month, sometimes weekly. Skin bumps and gastric weirdness, arthritis and blood sugar, vision fading and memory inaccessible.
Well, Jonas, in my view Washington D.C. is mostly a rash that won’t ever clear up. My bellyaching about it helps me forget my aching belly. It’s a good thing that people forget — who could handle the permanent recollection of all that bad stuff. On the other hand, because they don’t remember, generation after generation get caught up in the latest cooked up scheme for a war.
There are times I just want to give up, Phil. Hard to look ahead through these decrepit binoculars. Next they’ll be replacing my body parts, knees, hips. And each episode of whatever is next is a whole new spectrum of pain.
A few repairs here and there and your jalopy still has a bunch of miles before you blow your head gasket or snap an axle. Think of it as ruts in the road. Admittedly though, when I look at the stories about the environment, I think the enterprise might go off the road and bite the big one.
I’ll end up with dentures, or be one of those people at McDonald’s gumming their burgers. Might get bad enough I won’t remember who I am, or who you are, Phil.
That’s why they make those Big Macs so soft, y’know, Phil laughed — for the toothless! But as to an actual prognosis — long term I pronounce The Big Kaput is ahead. I’m talking species. No winning lottery tickets being sold by any religion, or science. Short term: events keep hitting the fan. We get splattered regularly. But some of it is gorgeous music, books and films, and love and . . .
Their friend Tony, coffee in hand, strolls over to the bench.
So what’s on the discussion menu for today, gentleman, he inquires?
You know, the usual, says Phil — couple old guys going through the daily catalog of aches and pains.
Twenty-seven of thirty-one stories — 500 words or less, written one-per-day during December 2018 — The Hunt & Peck Parables PatchWord Quilt™©.
© AleXander Hirka 2020. All Rights Reserved.