Turn the Tables

Peculiarity rang its ugly head one day. To be honest.More than once. You see. Blinking has its advantages in the short term, however clouds the vision for the long treacherous and at times long haul.

Clouds.

Check mark.

Not seeing clearly.

Check mark.

Seeing no forest from the trees.?

Huh?

Or is it seeing the trees from the forest?

Huh? Again.

See what I mean. Confusing.

There are many attractive ways to attract attention. Normally.Or.,oftentimes, anyway, to attract some attention one must give bad or false information to or about someone else.

I know.

Mean, right?

Why is it that negative sends the story ‘round and ‘round and gains the attention of the majority of villainous listeners? Opportunistic watchers.

I wish I knew. In some ways, to some, it is almost a right of passage that someone else’s misery is another someone’s visit to the over the moon and rainbows’ Land of Oz and Dorothy slippers and good witches and bad witches.

Good witch +Bad witch = Purgatorial news and information that neither is confirmed nor denied.

The story, the lie, it stands there in the vast wasteland of doubt and fear. While the advantageous may and do use it as an opportunity to “man-handle.” Another witch—good witches, bad witches, man-cave explosions and car rentals gone bad. There is a myriad of ways to right the wrongs and to say, “I’m sorry.”

But it doesn’t often occur.

How to plow through? Go along? Live to see another day?

Although I cannot speak for everyone—although in my most tantrum of a moment (or minutes☺️) I do try to—with the force of a person ten times my size and strength. Hey— it beats lying down and taking it all. Ya know—turning to jelly and all.

I offer you this check list, a barometer to see how you handle the unhandleable. A safe place to to see (or feel) where you may fall, oops, I mean crawl, oops again…I mean stall…..on your road to recovering your once self, your perhaps lost self, your maybe unaccounted for self.

Just read:

Believers. Turn the other cheek.

Bugs. Crawl back to their rightful owners unapologetically—after all what could be worse that dine and dash is bite and run.

Some shred their opponent. Enough said.

Still others, choose to negotiate (the socks off of another) however at least effort still really counts in some corners of this wide and crazy world of emasculation at the cost of “others.”

Some put their worries “in a box”. For another day. Some wish to “nip it in the bud.” Today. The outcome resulting in the same thing that would have been if had waited until tomorrow.

Some plan.

Some prefer flighty.

Some stress.

Some ritualistically think the outcome depends on where or not the salt is two centimeters away from the pepper. The candlesticks precisely positioned in front of the face of the good witch so the bad witch has a chance, an opportunity to swoop in and rub warts with the cute guy. One can be assured the cute guy will notice, but he may not like what he sees.

He thinks he can do better.

Can he?

Bigger question.

Can the ugly witch?

While the cute guy gets up from his chair suddenly tottering into oblivion because the salt and the pepper were knocked over by the ugly witch’s wart and he now cannot stand the gargoyles in the room of this embarrassment.

The good witch was always there for him to calm the water, ease the tension, take the slings and arrows, until once day she was gone. Dead and buried by years of incessant criticism, curt words and harsh tones.

The storm, he thought, always subsided and the good witch reappeared to help him line up the salt, the pepper, the candlesticks.

Truly. Exhausting. But she never wavered in her magical powers of patience and virtue and wonderment about the unhappy ways some mortals live their gossip.

Cruelly.

Viciously. Wink and smile viciously.

A head nod.

A really hard fist pump.

All demonstrative ways to prove who was who. And. Who wasn’t worth knowing or being around.

To a point, yes, the rituals helped keep the peace. The straight jacket of our own opinions pushed some away. We kept it buried for so long it had to “come out” at some point.

As well it did.

The fury.

The explosion of a thousand feelings and emotions of a time gone wrong. Turning to someone for something of what an appropriate decision may resemble before dragging someone’s heart around on a platter for others to devour.

The salt and pepper, he swore as he examined their positioning, were not lined up correctly and it drove him mad. MAD.

The good witch had been silent for some time. The unthinkable occurred to this cute and rigid guy. Oh no! With his defenses low, he wished for the bad witch to swoop in again and relieve him of his pain of perfection. The cute guy did not know how to handle it. What happened to this cute guy?

The inability to ask for help.

He just expected excellence, precise wonderment and all the trappings (if you will) of the“good life.” Boy oh boy, in the past, the silver platter was passed to him many times in mountainous ways and means and life was good. Until it begin to not be,

good.

Life challenged him in salt and pepper ways and the cute guy was unaccustomed to change. Transition was so difficult, he had always left the details of it to the good witch. While she was gone, he walked around an empty room adjusting and readjusting the salt and pepper shakers over and over. Two centimeters apart.

Nothing.

Before. The ritual was so secure, felt so right.

Now. Not so much.

The cute guy had a breakdown, fell to his knees and yelled at the top of his lungs. The sound echoed the room and knocked over the salt and pepper shakers onto the floor. The weeping man looked up from his knees and crawled over and gently picked each one of them up. He wrestled to stand up, holding the fragile salt and pepper shakers in his shaking hands. While putting them back on the table, because his trembling hands would not allow him to stand them appropriately two centimeters apart, he yelled. He turned around madly and threw the shakers against the wall and once again fell to his knees.