This morning I read an article about people love the paleo
diet/workout/lifestyle so much. The diet I can get down with. I’m not
personally going to follow it all the time but I’m for sure on board with the
fact that processed foods make you feel sluggish and squishy. That’s all fine
and logical. It really wasn’t until they stated that shitting in a modern
toilet is terrible for you that I wanted to slam my head on the table. I’d
actually read an article about this a few years ago it just wasn’t in reference
to the paleo lifestyle. It was specifically about these new toilets that are
designed to mimic squatting but in a more modern and comfortable setting, i.e.
your bathroom as opposed to the woods.
Both of these theories, or facts I’m not sure if they’re theories
or facts, either way, I’m sure they are both true. I’m not arguing that you
wouldn’t feel better and have healthier bowels, you very well could. My only
point of contention is, what’s the fucking point? At some level, everything is
bad for you. I once read an article that alleged eating large quantities of
peanut butter on a regular basis for an extended period of time, can cause
cancer. Yeah, I suppose it can. And we all know that drinking beer can and
smoking can and I guess peanut butter could and maybe using a high-seat toilet
is could lead to your demise as well. I can assure you that something will.
Something will be the death of you and it could very well be something you
never expected. What I take issue with is
not the desire to live a happier healthier life, it’s the worry, the
need for perfection, the underlying current that we can some how figure out a
way to cheat death. I don’t believe it’s ever going to be possible and I’m
pretty sure it’s a selfish fucking thing to want. We exist because we take
things from the earth. Water, food, oxygen, all those great things. In return,
we must die and give back carbon as payment to the earth for services rendered.
I suppose I could be accused of being negative or morbid,
but I really don’t see it that way. Frankly, it seems miraculous that we are
all even here, running around and eating organic quinoa. This is how I see it.
It’s a choose your own adventure game and every day of our lives we win.
Everyday we make it out alive. It’s really only one day that we don’t. That in
and of itself should be celebrated. I mean fuck. What other game do you play
that you win everyday but one? We are all operating on a 99.9% success rate at
making it through the day if you look at it that way, and I do suggest that you
look at it that way. Feel good about that and then get down to the other stuff.
Did you feel well today? Did you make anyone else feel well? Are you happy? So
on and so forth.
I guess the question I’m posing to you is, what if we all
just enjoyed things for what they are and stopped trying to change them? What
if we said, “You know what, maybe I’m not evacuating my bowels completely, but
at least I’m safe from the elements and any potential critter attacks. I’m
relatively comfortable and I’ve got a soft bed in the other room and some
fucking dried Tibetan goji berries in the pantry. This shit is not so bad.”
What if we replaced the constant, obsessive need to make things the best ever
with sheer contentment?
The only night I’ve ever spent in Portland, Oregon, I was at
this terrible little strip mall bar waiting for Lucas and Sarah to finish
fucking or fighting or whatever was taking them so long. This bar was pretty
boring, but I’d been in the woods for days so I didn’t mind. They had liquor
and people, so I sat there minding my own business until one of the bartenders
came over, sat two shots of Jagermiester in front of me and said, “Let’s make
this a mother fucking Monday.” He took his shot, I took mine, we clinked
glasses and he walked away. I have never seen him again in my life because I
think that was the end of his shift and he must have gone to the strip club, or
home to his Chihuahua or whatever scenario constitutes a “mother fucking
Monday” for him. I’ve never forgotten those words and I actually have come to
use them a lot in my life.
My point is, what if things didn’t have to be nipped and
tucked and pinned and pulled and banned and culled? What if we just made Monday
a mother fucking Monday?
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