I’m Doomed

Ok, it’s going to happen.  Get up and face the day.  This is the first day of school.  It’s full of promise and dread.  Mostly dread.

Milk spills.  Milk spilling should be an Olympic event.  Once again, I’m going for the Gold.  Why is it that a glass of milk can cover most of Rhode Island?  Yes, I’m going to clean it up.  Yes, I know I should be more careful.  What’s wrong with me?  I give the usual “don’t know” but secretly I understand that all my limbs operate independently with no central control.  I might explain this later when I’m older and I have a degree in brain research.  As I trot back and forth with ever growing piles of paper towels I wonder if I have consummed a major tree limb.  I’m not only a complete klutz, I am contributing to global warming.  I’m doomed.

Brush teeth.  Comb hair.  They’re always a few hairs that are in total rebellion.  Maybe super glue would help.  Probably not.  Others would just join in.  There it is, the huge red zit.  Scarred for life.  It’s my true curse in life.  It mocks me.  I look away to pretend it’s not there.  Who am I kidding?  Every living thing is going to stare at this monstrosity. Even Frankenstein had good complexion, although he did have a few other flaws.  I’m doomed.

Somehow I survived to get to lunch.  The noise level approaches that of a jumbo jet taking off.  Stuffing napkins in my ears might help.  At least it would take everone’s eye off my giant zit.  I should name him.  He’s  a part of the family.  Maybe something funny like Humphrey.  No, maybe something tough like Jake.  Then I could say hi, my name is Bob and this is Jake, pointing to my friend and constant companion.  Before I could settle this debate, I hear “Where’s my lunch?” .  I respond to the only human who will speak to me due to my affliction,  “I forgot to bring it today”.  As I was about to explain the disaster this morning Lunch Lady interrupted, “I’ll get you a lunch and call your parents. You can bring the money for it tomorrow”.  Great.  Another nail in my coffin. I’m doomed.

Was I paying attention? “Not so much” I responded in a moment of candor.  After the laughter died down the teacher just shrugged in pity, no doubt thinking, “Poor fellow,; he’ll be living in a box on the street sipping cheap wine in a bag any day now”.  I’m doomed

I don’t know what I was thinking.  Yes, I should have looked before I knocked down the Little Girl as I ran onto the bus.  I offer to help her up, but I was brushed aside with, “Youve done enough damage, move along”.  I trudge to the back of the bus.  All eyes are fixed on this felon and his only friend, Jake.  I tip my face to the side to spare Jake.  I plan on showing my good side for the mug shot.  I’m doomed.

Then there are the crazy thoughts in my head.  Break this.  Throw that.  Rip up the paper. Punch that face.  Maybe there will be a fire and it will burn the school down.  Please God, grant this plea.  It’s a good thing nobody can read minds.  Ack!  They can!

What do you mean, “What am I up to”?  Nothing.  Up against the wall.  Pat down.  Mom confiscates the five cookies I swiped after dinner.  Yes, I know they have 215 calories per cookie and that I will be as big as a house soon.  What I didn’t tell her is that Im trying to fatten up for prison.  I hear the food is awful.  Yes, a time out.  That’s actually good practice for solitary.  I’m getting used to this doomed thing.  It’s my fate.

Flash forward 20 years and I wonder how we survive childhood.  What is the point of suffering?  Is it to toughen us up for survival?  Is it God’s way of experimenting, like when kids step on an ant hill to see what they’ll do next?  Whatever.  I’m glad that doomed life is in the rear view mirror.  I miss Jake, sort of.  Pass the cookies please.

 

Lee