Thursday, January 29, 2009

Once I read life described as a...

monumental grotesque joke. My state of mind at the time clung too heavily to the description, but in the very slightly jaded aftermath, the cold, humorous reality of it elicits a morning smile. Within the first fifteen minutes of wake up, life invariably trips:

my foot knocks over a week old glass of juice, my cigarette pack is empty, no coffee maker exists within the kitchen despite the new whole coffee beans and discovered coffee grinder, the toilet clogs, my hair looks ill despite any pressing and pulling and pinning. All these things that when they occur, it's a minute blip in mood, when they don't occur, it's a minute stabilization of my mood in the day to follow. Given, my morning usually starts at 12 pm.

Lately, the monumental grotesque joke has taken form and shape in my every day, the small things, separately, inconsequential, lumped together, a monument of going-wrong's, bad karma in a haphazard race for my mind's deconstruction. Yet, it ends with a joke. Laughter. A chuckle. A smile. A roll of the eyes sighing "of course".

And when the joke chokes harder, the grotesque tries to take precedence, I think about a future road trip here:

And the joke resumes.

Laughter remains the foremost effective coping mechanism.