The Scathing

Soothing Sunday

It's hard to have a soothing Sunday when one feels as if the "bastards are winning".  Once in a while, I collapse upon myself in a ball of self-pity.  I get tired of being positive, of keeping a "stiff upper lip" of doing my damnedest to make the best out of a bad situation.  On the trail of life, I'm laying face down on the asphalt and throwing myself a mighty tantrum.  But, even that feels exhausting.

Maybe it's OK to have a soothing Sunday after all.  Maybe relaxing and letting the feelings wash over me like a hot flash isn't so bad.  Maybe it's just a natural part of life when you're in a less than good situation.  I've got to admit that asphalt is pretty uncomfortable. 

I sit up and look around me.  The sky is still where it should be.  The birds are still flying over head.  (A few have been watching me from the safety of their leafy perches.)  The ground beneath me is still solid. . . even though at any moment the big earthquake might happen.  How few guarantees there are.

Life will not let me go unscathed.  This trial is all a part of the scathing (I'm taking the liberty of using an adjective as a noun.  Who's going to stop me?)  Fighting it only seems to make everything hurt worse. 

The hard rocks trapped in the asphalt hurt my "sittin' down".  There has got to be a better way to find soothing on this fine Sunday.  I rise.  Sore, stiff, I begin to walk into the comfort of the familiar.  "Scathing, be damned.  You haven't won yet.  I'm back in the game."