Best Prizes on the Pier Here -OR- No Rags in a Bag; No Trash Under the Counter

"Clowns to the left of me. Jokers to my right, here I am."

When Mama said there'd be DAYS like this I thought she meant that they'd be spread out over a lifetime, not run on a continuous loop.

This too shall pass?

Oh mighty Umbrage, where is thy sense of shame?

And where is my common sense?

I keep watching this validation of my contempt, distrust, enmity and fatalism being forensically dissected, dutifully recorded and reported, yet knowing it's but the tip of the iceberg. That IS the way of things. The blowholes are immortal. When one falls, a dozen step up to press onward.

In my head I know that the scale has tipped. The disease is systemic. There is no judicial thresher that can remove the abundance of chaff; exert sufficient force to affect the inertia. My head also knows that none of it actually impacts my daily grind except to limit its potentials.

I have great joys in my life. I have carved out a middle for myself and those for whom I care deeply. When one of the swarm of flies enters my killing field, I dispatch it without regard. That's what one does with pests.

The Obama v. Fly metaphor was a teaching opportunity missed.