I wake up in the morning and ask myself why I should bother getting out of bed. Is the answer because the birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and life is a wonder? No. The answer is that I have bills to pay. I drag my sorry ass to work, paste a smile on my face, and do my best to maintain a facade of caring and friendship among my coworkers. Then, I go home and take a healthy dump, flush the toilet, and turn on the TV.
That’s what life is for the most part. Some of you may tell me that we have a greater purpose, that the spirit of the heart is alive beyond death, and that love is forever. What you are really praying for during your solitary moments is hope; some grand hope that there is a magical reason why you have trudged along through life with deadbeat cheating spouses, rotten kids, jealous family members and worthless friends. Well there is not. The only difference between you and me is that I have accepted it. At the end of the day all we want to deal with are as few pain-in-the asses as possible.
All of this is why, on a Sunday afternoon, the last thing I want to hear is an idiot with some cause banging on my door. I do not care if they can save my soul. I do not care what great cause they are championing. I do not care if they are selling gold bricks for a dollar. What I want is for them to go to hell.
They always catch me in such moments as when I am just about to fall asleep on my couch, to wipe my ass without somebody talking to me through the door, or to take my first bite of a freshly made sandwich. In this day and age of social media, email, direct mail, or even just setting a pamphlet on my step if the best way that you can tell me something is to knock on my door during the few modicums of pleasure available to me in this life then you can pound salt.
Back when I had a one room apartment I remember one guy who pounded on my door like King Kong. I was startled because I wondered if someone was having an emergency. I jumped up and opened the door. This slab of human debris shoved a paper in my face and asked me if I wanted to buy a subscription. After I answered with an emphatic “no” he had the audacity to ask me “why not?” Where are serial killers when you need them? It wouldn’t have broken my heart had this guy knocked on the wrong door and his head ended up in the freezer with some delicious fruit flavored popsicles.
One less pain-in-the-ass to deal with, know what I mean?