the secret to life

Sometimes life sucks. Eat chocolate…be happy.

This should be on a bumper sticker. Or a tattoo. On my forehead. You know…in reverse so I could read it when I look in the mirror? It just never fails to surprise me how often I’m shocked and dismayed by the stupid little things.

It’s not like the world is going to end just because my dog’s flea medicine doesn’t work. Fleas are apparently as resistent to death as cockroaches and aging rock stars. And now I have to take extreme measures to run the circus out of town. Shit happens, right? And, yeah…I have giant moths and daddy longlegs spiders (or non-spiders as they don’t spin webs…semantics if you ask me) creeping around me after dark.  I just need to sleep in a bubble of bug netting or something to keep them from touching me in the night, right? And so what if my husband watched a documentary on holistic medicine after a few beers last night and decided to analyze me while I was attempting to sleep. And for the record, I don’t care if my chakra is balanced or not. As long as you’re not drawing a chakra line around my dead body, I think I’ll be fine. Do not even think about telling me I need to give up chocolate for tofu or something equally insane.

Not that he said any of those things. He said my skin was too dry…but, hey, I’m not taking any chances.

When I find myself feeling down because life isn’t fair, I have to remind myself that life isn’t supposed to be fair. It’s not a board game. It doesn’t play by the rules. You don’t get any guarantees or warrantees, and there are no returns or exchanges. This is it. So, you’d better grab all the chocolate you can carry and save it for a freaking rainy day, because it rains a lot.

But on the up side…without the rain, there are no rainbows.

I know…I’m spewing some serious crazy talk. But hey, I’m allowed. I think I’m suffering from PMS. I need a damn PMS sign…like the Bat signal. Something I can flash into the sky to warn everyone in a several mile radius to either suck it up and do my bidding, or just stay the hell away for 5 to 7 days. I have no patience for your crap.

Haha. That would be awesome, wouldn’t it?

Honestly, I love PMS. It’s the rest of the world that seems to have a problem with it.

Until the next time…I’ll be holed up in my room with chocolate and weapons.

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on September 15, 2012 .