What would I be if I weren’t a bitchy, pain-in-the-ass, grumbling, frowning, miserable prick? Would I be the Pope? …the Queen of the Netherlands? …a jowly, cigar-chewing sportswriter in New Jersey? Nah. No offense to any in that unlikely trinity, but I would be none of them. Would I still be bald? Yeah. Would I still be a little overweight, and a little out of shape? Oh, yeah. Would my breakfast continue to be a pot of coffee, my lunch a pizza, and my dinner a pint of ice cream? Probably. <\/p>\n
If I weren’t a bitchy prick, I wouldn’t hide as much as I do now. I would get out of bed before noon. I wouldn’t wait until dark to walk to the store. I’d feel more scared, but I’d be less afraid. I’d sing in the shower. <\/p>\n
I’d cry. Maybe no more than I do now, but there’d be a flow to it, and with a destination, too. That flow would rinse-out the mildewed sponge that has held the body of my tears for decades. It wouldn’t stink anymore, and I’d throw that ratty sponge away. <\/p>\n
If I wasn’t a bitchy prick, I’d see that I am kinda cute, a little bit. And I’d see that the monsters would be monsters no more –they’d all turn back into regular people, they way I used to see them, the way they have always been. They’d once again become potential friends, and I would once again become one, too. <\/p>\n
That’s a pretty cheery view, like it’s a clear and sunny blue-sky day, and I’m driving on an empty highway through green mountains and over shining crystal-clear rivers, on my way to somewhere, going some place. <\/p>\n
Everything is so beautiful, so beautiful. Everything. If I weren’t a bitchy prick, I don’t know how I’d manage. I don’t know how I would manage at all. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
What would I be if I weren’t a bitchy, pain-in-the-ass, grumbling, frowning, miserable prick? Would I be the Pope? …the Queen of the Netherlands? …a jowly, cigar-chewing sportswriter in New Jersey? Nah. No offense to any in that unlikely trinity, … Continue reading