The Post Where I Realized Something About Life That You’d Really Think I’d Have Worked Out Years Ago.

I’ve always believed in omens. Maybe it’s because I’m terminally indecisive and almost pathologically incapable of following any sort of life plan no matter how low maintenance. Either way, I’m always keeping one eye open ( not literally, that would pretty much freak out everyone around me ) for portents offering guidance and some sort of divine insider knowledge.

It’s a test of sorts…to see these things, interpret them correctly, and henceforth not make a complete pig’s ear of your entire existence. So, no pressure.
Has this led me along the right path so far? I suspect not. I’m not what you’d qualify as an overachiever. Or even a slightly-under-par-but-we’ll-just-turn-a-blind-eye-to-it achiever. In fairness, my life hasn’t gone down in a screaming fireball of raging misjudgments which would make the word “shambles” weep with its inadequacy, but when I think about how I’ve done so far there’s an awful lot of awkwardly staring at my feet and shuffling from side to side.
Yet, I keep an eye open for those harbingers and trust my intuition to take me to inner peace with a side order of absolute greatness.
Imagine then, how I felt to see this on my iPad camera roll :

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Wha…?

Apart from the appalling camera work, this is peculiar in a few ways.
1) I did not take this photo. Neither did anyone else in my family, and this pad never leaves the house.
2) Sherbet lemons? These aren’t even available in this country.. where on earth was this taken?
3) Why would anybody want to photograph a sherbet lemon box?
4) I didn’t take this photo! I know I mentioned this before, but I think as a particularly salient point it bears repeating.

Then it came to me! It’s a sign!! Look!

So I looked. What was the universe trying to tell me? Was it something about life being essentially bittersweet? Was it a “when life gives you lemons” analogy? What was the answer to this sour hard-boiled candy cue? I stared and stared. I was going to pass this test, dammit.

Then it dawned on me.
Life was telling me to go suck it.

Life can be such an ass sometimes.

Life in a nutshell. The emphasis is obviously on “nuts”.

I am leading what is possibly the shockingly least utilized of cat litter analogies … a non-clumping State Of Being.

Not only is my life wildly distributed over the Hallway Of Existence, but is also firmly ingrained in the Fluffy Socks Of Achievement. Whilst the rest of the world seems to be scooping and disposing of their existential poop possibly one-handedly whilst whistling a cheery tune and blatantly getting on with their lives, I’m still lugging the 3rd bag of “EZ Scatter” up 3 flights of stairs and jovially trying to convince myself that yes, chest pains are totally normal, don’t be a wuss.

Why I can’t seem to get my life together is a matter of great debate, albeit mostly within my own head. It can get very heated. Some times blame is thrust upon the mis-firings or chemical imbalances in what passes for my brain. Occasionally the finger is tentatively pointed at hormones. Or the weather. Or my Significant Other Looking At Me In A Funny Way. And all these things certainly play their parts, admittedly.

It is, as they say, what it is.

Those nearest and dearest pat my arm and say, “It’s OK. You’re OK. I’m sure you would be different if you could be.”
But I disagree. Do I wish I had clarity of focus to learn new things and do the things I already know faster, more accurately, and with a jaw-dropping flair that would gain me obscenely massive piles of cash?
Well…obviously.
Cash is always nice.
But I don’t think I would change. A sneaky part of me likes the chaos. The inner child who stops to watch a snail and gently pokes an eye stalk and giggles. The me that is fascinated by Autumnal sunrises, and who thinks that..dammit..women in their 40’s should be allowed to wear fluffy beanie hats with fake cat ears without attracting widespread public derision.
Life would be very boring were we all the same, I constantly tell my children. And anyone else’s children given half a chance. It’s all well and good being super-organised, but there’s a lot to be said for embracing your eccentricity… warts, fluffy ears, and all.
So I shall haul the extra bags of litter up the stairs of life and be grateful that at the very least I have cats. Otherwise that would just be an incredibly peculiar workout routine.

I’m strange…but I’m not *that* strange.