Sometimes there is nothing funny.
Sometimes there is nothing funny to be parsed from a month that resembled less those wistful, remaining weeks of a summer vacation and more a personal hellspace of bullshit and tears and regrets. Lots and lots of regrets, both large and stupidly small.
My son left. My sweet dog got an incurable disease at just three years old and died within 48 hours. I quit my job. I quit the school board. I canceled friendships. I embarked on an unholy and unorthodox sort of midlife crisis that lacks humor, sports cars and metaphors for the real meaning of life.
I’m wandering aimlessly through my days looking for things to quit just because I am hit with the unshakeable and terrifying truth that it’s a short ride.
All of it. Life, jobs, relationships, puppies, books, dreams, money. Gone in the blink of an eye with no real recourse or “submit feedback” option, because we all know I’d give August 2022 0 out of 10 stars, WOULD NOT RECOMMEND.
I should be looking for a job, a direction, a prayer, a clue-- but mostly I’m looking for my left sandal or that twenty-dollar bill I set aside for the pizza I ordered. I’m not really here, just going through the motions wishing there was a punchline or a Prozac lying around to make it all more palatable.
Looking back over the past few weeks and these giant, painful things that happened, twice I remember looking around during these moments of truth and wondering when the “real” adult was going to come into the room and make these hard decisions and say these hard goodbyes.
On what godforsaken planet was I the only responsible adult on hand? Surely, something must be wrong and, please, for the love of all that is holy and easily shucked off on others, why wasn’t someone coming to my rescue?
Why was life suddenly so hard and so unfunny? It hit me then. It hit me hard.
Sometimes life is a broken heart followed by another broken heart and sometimes there is nothing funny.
Luckily though, for most of us, it goes on. And sometimes that’s all we can ask for.