I hate sharing weaknesses, or anxieties. It always makes me paranoid that someone will exploit the thing I share, and use it against me. The one thing I fear the most is that someone will slip $500,000 into my bank account, because…
What? No takers? So much for reverse psychology.
I really do hate being lost. The scary feeling that you have no recognizable landmarks to go by. Following the travelling directions to a tee, but suddenly finding yourself in a spot that is off track and alien. It’s even worse when there’s nobody to ask. No idea of which direction North is. It’s like floating adrift at sea, with nothing but the horizon as far as the eye can see, and nothing but sky above.
To bring a little light to the topic, and switch things up a bit, consider this perspective of Vic and Sade.
How did I get here? I’m lying in the grass, but it’s so tall. I can hardly see anything over it. Wait, there’s people coming.
“Hey! I’m down here!” I want to yell, but no sound comes out.
They’re talking about someone named Cynthia, and she’s giving her ring to the butler… no, it’s not the butler, its Hector… or is it a rattlesnake? No, no, that can’t be right.
“Forget about Gilmore Grizzwald the cattle thief, it’s only a character in a movie! Down here! I’m over here! That’s right, walk a little closer” Hey, did he just say something about a lawn mower? This could go badly for me.
Just listen to that woman over there. She’s not looking in the right spot either, but you’re all getting warmer. I’ll bet if I were a dime, or a silver dollar, you’d be sure to find me.
What did she say? It’s me! They are looking for me after all! “I’m down here! Look over here!” Oh, why can’t I talk, and make them hear me? I wish I was back in Decatur, or at least with Mr. Gumpox. How did I ever get here anyway?
Stop all your useless chattering! Don’t worry about shoes, or how they fit, or how I got lost. I’m lost, and I’m right over here. What? The whole neighborhood is out looking for me. That’s a relief; at least I know that people care about me.
You’re doing it again. You’re too worried about how I got lost. That’s right I fell out of his pocket, what did you think… that I fell out of his mouth? Gumpox sure has some crazy clients along his garbage route, I’m telling you. No, I didn’t jump out of his pocket. No, I didn’t bite my way through it either. I don’t think you’re funny at all.
Hey, is that Mrs. Corkel over there? And look, Mrs. Parker has her whole family out looking. There’s Mrs. Drummond and her husband. Come on people, just look over here, your almost on top of me. That’s right, I’m right here, smiling and gleaming in the sunlight, just waiting for you to see me. Hey, did that kid just refer to me as ‘fangs’? I’m teeth, not fangs. To be precise, I’m a high quality, custom made set of dentures. Hmm… I hope it’s not your grubby little paws that find me.
Finally! They’re coming my way. A clothes pin? A cigar butt? You’re finding everything out here, except for me!
Oh no. They’re doing it again, just talking, and not hunting for me. Making dumb jokes at my expense, and gossiping about that Mrs. Razorscum. Who cares if she’s not looking for me, neither are you at the moment.
Yikes! I’m flying through the air! Hurray, someone found me. Thanks to Mr. Overholtzer. Now take me back to Gumpox, I have work to do with him.
PS: For the rest of the story behind this weird piece of work enjoy the podcast episode when you visit: