Life is just a matter of perspective

I am a very strong believer that life is what you make of it. Case in point, I grew up in a small town in southern Illinois. To the naked eye there wasn’t that much to do. Especially not on a farm. My closest neighbor was a half mile away. Now, to some that may sound boring, but to me it isn’t. Everything is just a matter of perspective.

For example, I could say that last Friday was stressful. I woke up late, had to turn around because I forgot to feed the cat, and then had a boring day at work with the exception of one shitty customer.

Or I could say this…

That Friday started out as any other. But as soon as I opened my eyes I could feel something different. The air was heavy, expectant, like the very universe was holding its breath, waiting for greatness. It is impossible to lie still with the entire universe waiting on you to fulfill your destiny.
So, I woke up, pissed off my cat, and choked down a granola bar on the way to my car. Halfway down the driveway I realized that I had not fed Natasha. I had run over her eight days earlier, and rescued her from her attempted suicide. She is a tiny striped tabby cat, and FIV positive so she can’t live with Dex, because he’s hateful. So, she roams the basement like a wild disease ridden panther. I slammed on my brakes. They made a dramatic scrunching noise on the gravel as I flew to a stop. As I backed down the driveway with I was hit with the sneaking suspicion that it was going to be one of “those” days.  The universe was still waiting, but dammit if she wasn’t going to make it difficult for me to fulfill my glorious quest, whatever it was meant to be.

I returned to the fortress of my parent’s home and wended my way through the obstacle course of dogs that run rampant and insane through the driveway. I could see the entrance to Natasha’s lair from my car. Then I heard it. Thump. Thump. Thump. What was that noise? The screech of claws came against my car door. What unholy beast could be trying to rip apart my protective steel cocoon? Was it? Yes, it was. Susan the Skunk Dog. On the surface she appeared to be a harmless pit bull cross, but beneath the overjoyed exterior her evil lurks. I cracked the door, and the dreaded stench permeated my senses. She was there. How could I avoid her overjoyed lunges and dastardly attempts at affection? I didn’t dare touch her. I would smell of skunk for days. I would be avoided, ridiculed, I would be the smelly girl. On such a magical day I could not let that happen. I searched around my car for some sort of weapon to wield against her. My eyes landed on the crushed up partial bits of granola bar. Success. I wouldn’t attack the vile creature. I would lure it away. Picking up the crumbs of oat and honey I rolled down the window, and with a short prayer, I threw the hunks away. Would they tempt her? Would the other canines eat them before they could work their magic?

The clever deception worked. Susan and her canine cadre raced across the yard to search for the bits of human food. I sprinted for the door to Natasha’s lair. What would I find there? I edged the door open and descended into darkness. Natasha’s cry echoed through the room disorienting me as I fumbled pointlessly for the light switch. Before I could operate it, she was there, winding through my ankles. Onlookers would say that she was just wanting affection, but I knew better. She was a clever, clever kitty. I perched precariously on the stairs in the darkness. Her movements through my legs shifted me forward inch by inch towards my imminent demise. If I slid down the stairs I would do her work for her. The voracious beast that she was, she would consume me if I showed any sign of weakness or injury. The potted meats that kept her temporarily sated, never truly satisfied her appetites. The striations of her fur were a mesmerizing blur, disorienting me further. I felt myself teetering on the edge of the concrete stair. Warm cat brushed constantly against my legs. Plaintive cries filled my ears. A small part of my being cried out for me to shake free of the trap before it was too late, but I couldn’t. I stumbled over the cat, and tumbled down the last four steps. I landed against the bank of cat cages. My head swam. My arm stung, but miraculously I survived. As the jolt of my landing slammed through my body I realized that Natasha was advancing on me slowly, stealthily, she came down the stairs. I was free, I had to act quickly! But, I was also in pain. I muttered a curse and limped valiantly towards the cans of processed meat. I ripped the pull tab open and with a loud “schlock” plated the meat in front of the vicious beast. My morning supplication pleased her. She allowed me to escape the darkness of her lair. I shook my head as I came out and into the bright sunlight. Was that the epic battle that the universe had prepared me for? I feared not. I still had to survive the most harrowing part of the day, work.

I traveled many miles uneventfully, nursing my wounded arm and ego. I would not fall victim again! And I didn’t. Work was really boring actually. I typed some stuff, and filed some stuff, and then I broke the copier, but I didn’t actually break it. I just thought I did. Then I went to lunch, and it was okay, but not poisoned or anything exciting. I drove back to work and clocked in and the secretary was like “Lauren you had a call.” And then, just like that my peaceful day was blown out of the water by my most challenging adversary ever, a customer (*duh duh na* <- dramatic effect). Customers are worse than Susans, Natashas, or anything else really because they hide themselves so well. On the surface they look like rational, reasonably intelligent people, but below that benign exterior their evil knows no bounds. Some of them function well, as in they actually pretend to know what they want and give the semblance of being “happy.” But really, those are only decoy customers to lure me in with a false sense of success and confidence so that the ringers can come out and trod my poor little brain into mush. Customers wear on you. They require you to be perky, and giving because “they’re always right” even when they’re dumb and cranky and needy as hell. So anyway, I laid out my weapons. Catalog, price list, and inventory levels were placed close at hand for whenever I need them in my upcoming duel. I picked up the phone and dialed my nemesis, steeling myself to sound happy. I would not lose this battle. After all, on this day the universe has great expectations of me. I chanted to myself, “Above all I will not get frustrated and cry.” It was on a loop in my head. The rings stopped. A voice answered. The battle lines are drawn. I have entered the arena. I finger the edge of my catalog nervously, ready to flip it open at a moment’s notice. Then I hear it, a part number…  that doesn’t exist. I try to explain, but no, it can’t be, the customer can’t be wrong. My stores of perkiness wear thin. I resist the urge to shout “There is no damn XH85! Go get a freaking tape measure. There is XH at 103mm and X85 at 83mm. Nothing else! Learn how to measure and then call me back!” into the receiver instead I say, “Okay sir, can you do me just a little favor and measure the width of that chain for me? I want to make sure that I have this absolutely right for you, and I don’t seem to have any XH85 callouts here.” There. Success. I have survived the encounter. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hang up the phone. I have battled a customer and won. Still I feel as though my epic journey is not finished.

I clock out. I crave liquor. I crave chocolate. I crave chocolate liquor. And then it hits me. There is somewhere I need to be. I am making another journey this night, but where, and why? I am going to be fighting miles of traffic and the insurmountable obstacles known as farm equipment. I am amped to do battle past unknown roads and deer of certain doom. But for what?  I flip past the meaningless blurbs in my Google calendar that attempt to distract me with their colors and seeming importance, and it hits me. The very universe shifts with my realization. Suddenly, I know what my battles have been for. I know the great purpose that I woke up with that very morning. It’s Friday. I’m having wine with V.

See there. It’s all a matter of perspective. You’d be amazed at how much more eventful and fun life can be when you picture yourself as the hero in your story – which you are. So, go out and battle a “Garbage Dragon” instead of being stuck behind a boring old garbage truck. It’ll be fun. Trust me, after all I survived a vicious Susan attack, an encounter with the dread Natasha, a boss level challenge with a customer, and I got to drink with a princess. Hells yeah.