Friday, May 04, 2012

Why Things Matter

Category: Life

I spent a week thinking my dentist had screwed up, and he had, but for something completely different from what I had thought.  It doesn’t matter.  Well, I mean, it matters to me, but I don’t matter.  Do I matter?  Maybe I’m wrong; maybe I do matter.  However, I doubt it. I watch CNN. Based on CNN, I don’t see how I could possibly matter. This is stupid. I kill whacks of ants every day. I hope they weren’t thinking that they mattered. Did they?  If so, oh dear. 

I’ve been reading a lot lately, and according to all the sources, I am going to die fairly soon. In the good old days, I used to have something like fifty years to worry about this, but now I could keel over at any moment. Apparently most people don’t even make it to ninety, and if they do, they look horrible and can barely wave at you and recommend cigars. This seems wrong, but do I have any say in it? NO. Does it MATTER?

I have spent a lot of time worrying about what might happen if nobody is allowed to do anything anymore because somebody might be sued for malpractice or something. “If I happen to die because I wasn’t wearing a helmet, will that screw up the statistics?  This might matter. Why?” I don’t even have a bathtub here, just a shower. I had been worried that I would die in the bathtub without a helmet, and that my relatives would be unable to collect the insurance money; but at the rate things are going, it ain’t gonna happen. I don’t even have any relatives, much less insurance. 

One thing I do know for sure is that there are no Government Agents in my apartment, so not every little thing that goes on in here can possibly be the fault of Government, or Big Business. What we have going on around here is Pure Anarchy.

Well, it would be, except for me. I am sort of In Charge.  But because there are three of us, and two of us are cats, and I can’t figure out why it matters one way or the other, it’s mostly Anarchy. No way is this a Democracy, or even a Kingdom.  I am sort of a kind, absent-minded, Maniacal Despot. This is because my cats chew holes in my clothes. I don’t know why they do that. I can choose to feed them or not, and I usually do.  Sometimes I just choose to scream at them and wave my arms around. They eat my clothes one way or the other. They are used to my cackling and screeching, and don’t take me seriously. They are probably filled with inchoate longing for something, they know not what… same as me.

What distinguishes me from my cats is that I don’t eat their clothes, and that they are filled with optimism. They have someone who yells at them and leaves her clothes lying around free for the munching. Me, I just have two cats. They don’t wear clothes, although there is a lot of cat hair. I spend a lot of time scraping cat hair off things, but I have been thinking of stopping. The cats don’t seem to mind all the cat hair. Do I? Do I really? Does it matter?

The cats seem to think it matters whether there is food and water in their bowls. This is what keeps me going. 

Posted by julianyway on 05/04 at 02:24 PM | Permalink
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