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?
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.