I grew up thinking rainy days were Monday’s and the weekend! Winning Wednesday’s were designed to do the hump, to perform a circus style leap over the hot searing flames of pressures generated by endless I need’s, I want and give it to me now’s. Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes and saw raining trickling down the television weatherman’s outdoor camera lens creating a kaleidoscope effect that normally turns a child’s frown into a happy face clown.
In being my traditional true Montana raised self; its time to protest! How dare we be given rain on a Wednesday! It’s the pivotal portion of the week where the average worker decides how much energy they should pour into a project knowing the nearest horizon carries with it the scent of a freshly unwrapped Saturday.
If we were living the 60’s we’d reshape the streets with protest parades featuring giant handmade signs that read, “Unfair to daydreamers! No gain when it rains! Dribble your drops elsewhere!”
This isn’t the typical late September drip, they bite! A stinging that races through the surface of your skin straight to the bone forcing the inner core of your dreams to become instantly frozen which sets free the mighty beast; the flu and cold bugs living with millions if not billions somewhere in between.
I stand in protest!
If I’ve studied the pictures of the 60’s with a keen eye and well rehearsed sense of direction, if two separate sides find that they are not agreeing both parties must dress to impress those who’ve chosen to follow. My attire is to the point! I’ve elected to wear a vividly colorful completely tasteful guitar printed Hawaiian styled shirt open to my hairless navel while swiftly moving through the halls on feet protected by open toe flip flops! Thank God I took a shower because I don’t need the other side screaming, “Ewwww stinky toes!”
Not even a second passes and the ticker mixer of a heart with its infamous beat box Hip Hop rhythms I carry pounds out loudly the love I have for all living trees and weeds; knowing of the horrid drought we’ve not by choice jumped within must learn to accept the bitter flavor of rain on a Wednesday.
Come on! Who makes up all this guilt? The last thing consumers and American workers need to hear is the clippity cloppity screeching of windshield wipers that should’ve been changed during the mid-year rains of April June and May.
Hey! Wouldn’t that be a fun game to play? What if for 52 weeks we rearranged the 12 months that make up a year?
January could fall somewhere between summer and fall. July can be the new December…Lord knows we could use the July 4th holiday after spending three months Christmas shopping. March is filled with too much wind so why not put it inside the center of summer so we can easily blow the heat away?
If they can redesign the Ipod, Ford Mustang and your banking account options every ten minutes in America, don’t you think its time we do something about the way we mosey through the same stinking 365 days of every year. If this were the NBA or NFL they’d figure out ways to trade away a few days. I’m willing to give up six Monday’s for two sunshine filled Thursday's and a full moon Friday but only if we Saturday’s can be 28 hours long followed by a three hour workday Monday.
Wanna know why there could never be such positive change? Because elected officials only decide to make a difference if dollars are somehow attached to the final process. Monday thru Friday’s are free. Saturday and Sunday’s only cost if you toss a party and the red wine mixed with a quick swing of tequila hangover is far worse than you could imagine.
January’s, February’s and the other day of the week holders don’t really exist…they’re the yellow envelope looking things on your computer screen found on the C drive. You’d think they’d be easy to reach but each time I double click the evil message reads, “You need permission from the administrator.”
If we interrupt the presentation by using three fingers at once to knock the feet free with a solid kick toward Control, Alt and Delete…what if during the rebooting we’re turned back into crying babies and there’s another 12 years of public education waiting for us?
One television news reporter brags about how the state educational lottery system has earned public schools millions of extra dollars and the next day the superintendent of the system announces the possible closure of several places of lessons being taught. I’d drop out in Kindergarten. Even Carlos Mencia won’t steal this nation’s educational joke.
It seems too easy to pick up and run but where? Housing costs are a nightmare, there’s no security in any career and NASA isn’t building space ships anymore.
If you were a Pilgrim dressed up in Thanksgiving clothes and someone shouted, “I have found a new land where there’s no taxes to be paid! Religion can be of many! Bosses have no power! Gas prices are cheap and Christmas feels like everyday!”
Would you drop what you’re doing and chase the dream? Or have you accepted the idea that today is just another rainy Wednesday and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about change?
Whatever your decision...I will always believe in you first…
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
No comments:
Post a Comment