Spew With Me
Enough with the “enforced positivity.”
This week started out with a real kick in the ass.
The miserable SOB who lives across the fence and hasn’t addressed us in the twenty-plus years we’ve lived here dropped a dime on us with the city for having too many weeds.
The city wouldn’t tell me who the rat was, but I figured it out.
We take care of our property, which is on a huge corner lot, the very best we can, but the weather has not cooperated this year. It’s been wet and cold. We haven’t experienced a real spring, even though it’s mid-May.
Compounding matters, this guy is compulsive about his lawn. If he’s not moving, he’s poking around with a stick and a bucket. Torturing tiny creatures who happen to invade his perfect space, I’m guessing.
As pristine as his yard is, I’ve yet to see him and his spouse enjoy it. They never come outside. There are no chairs, no grill, none of the usual stuff people schlep out to their patios and decks when the weather warms up.
I hate him. And his harridan of a wife who barks orders at him from the window.
“Oh, Don, do this,” and “Don, do that.” No wonder he stays outside.
In fact, since we never see her, maybe the wife is buried in that perfect yard and old Don is doing a ventriloquist thing like Anthony Perkins in Psycho.
So the city, the place where we’ve paid considerable taxes for twenty years, fined us $50. I was able to get it reversed, but now, we’re on their radar. Like there isn’t enough to worry about, we have the COVID Crab Grass Police to contend with.
People suck.
Not you guys. I love you. I do. The majority of you do not suck. Plus, for me, writing here is cathartic and helps dispel the demons in my head, of which there are many. Especially now.
“Lawn care” is a minor matter when we consider what’s going on in the world and in the United States, in particular. I call out the U.S., because the man in the White House should be locked up.
We can only hope and pray (to who, I don’t know), that a change is gonna come this November. If not, we are truly screwed.
Give this, I am having a hard time finding the “positives” in this situation of sheltering in place. Our “new normal” of quarantines and sickness and death…and more death.
TV commercials are especially annoying. All those happy families Zooming and Skyping and flashing perfect smiles while whipping up healthy meals and perfecting their Downward Dogs.
“It’s fun to be stuck at home day after day! Look at us! We love it.”
Bullshit. I’ll bet there are households where the family members are plotting how to wipe each other out. Or the very least, banging each other over the heads with fresh-baked loaves of sourdough bread.
Because we know what “familiarity” breeds. And it ain’t good, friends.
And then there are the photos and news bytes documenting the ignorant doings of our ignorant president’s ignorant followers. Scary people who, if they were to become infected would only improve the gene pool. But justice is fleeting, at best.
We can only hope that, as they’re gathering and marching and attempting to force their warped world-views on the rest of us, that some Covid-19-ridden spittle will settle like a noxious cloud on their fucked-up heads.
Like everyone, I experience what passes for “good” days and conversely, some really shitty ones where I think I’m going to lose my mind. Days where I feel like popping the wine cork at noon.
Or hitting the hay at 6 pm. Not a good sign.
Then there are the stories here and on social media that reek of positivity and good vibes. Even I wrote one! But that was weeks ago and my headspace has shifted to the dark side.
Those silver linings have morphed into one big noose and I don’t care about the fact that we have all the time in the world to clean our homes and dump our stuff and even time to get buff…we’re all strangling, nonetheless.
Because I don’t want to make you feel worse than you probably already do, this is what I propose: Let’s get our misery out on the page. Vomit it up, if you will. Purge ourselves of the bad feelings that are holding us back from actually living our lives, as difficult as that concept is to grasp given our current situation.
Never has it been more true that “misery loves company.” And I for one could use your company right now.
So, if you’re up to it, I invite you to write a story for Rogues’ Gallery documenting every single shitty feeling you’re experiencing during this time. Please know that nothing is too trite.
I don’t care if you’re pissed off that your nails look like you’ve been splitting lumber, or your hair has taken on an aroma much like spoiled milk, or you’re regretting the fact that you ever had kids…just tell the truth.
How about it, P.G. Barnett, Stephen Sovie, Kristi Keller, Helen Cassidy Page, Estacious(Charles White), Rasheed Hooda, Gurpreet Dhariwal, James Knight, Joe Luca, Prickly Pam, 🦄 Chris Hedges, Selma, Charlene Fate, Hawkeye Pete Egan B., Suzanne V. Tanner and anyone else who needs to spew. Feel free to pass this along, but please remember that this is for RG. If you want to be added as a writer and think you’re a good fit, just let me know.
If nothing else, perhaps we’ll all feel better for a little while. I’ll take it. Gladly.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
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