The Echoes of Hurricane-Turned-Tropical-Storm Andrea

The Umbrella Graveyards.  Piles of broken umbrellas, twisted cheap metal and torn fabric, strewn angrily into (and around) public garbage cans.  I adore seeing umbrella corpses in my neighborhood during and after storms… I don’t know why.  Maybe dead umbrellas make me feel connected to other people.  “Arg, f$%king umbrella, f$%king storm,” people say.  “I HATE LIFE,” they add.  That’s what I imagine whenever I see a dead soldier.


I’m not what you’d call a cheery person.  I try to be optimistic or at least not pessimistic… the best I can shoot for is occasionally hopeful.  But no matter what I do, hypothesizing about another person’s minor misery, getting completely soaked in a downpour because their piece of shit umbrella manufactured in fill-in-the-blank-poor-country-outsourced-sweatshop-most-likely-in-the-far-East turned inside-out, fills me with glee.  I think to myself, HEY I hate the world today, also!  We’re all connected!


It’s as if for just one day, a disproportionate number of people know what kind of irritation I carry around on a daily basis.


A few days from now when the raining ceases, the masses will smile up towards the clear sky and shining sun while I will cling to my crotchety nature.  Oh Tefnut, Egyptian god of all things having to do with rain and moisture (thanks Wikipedia), I implore thee, vanquish Ra so that I might remember again what it is to connect with my fellow man.  Until then I revert back to my true nature.


……IT’S a METAPHOR, get it?  😉  (sigh)


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