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)