How the Sausage is Made

 

 

I was talking to Mister about this and that and he pointed out that sometimes it’s best to not know how the sausage is made.

 

If this sounds all willy-nilly, allow me to sort of explain. I am involved in various endeavors and groups, and work with folks to make things happen within those groups. For example, let’s say there’s a benefit being planned. I may work behind the scenes to help pull off the event. Hopefully it will be successful. Hopefully those attending said event will experience a smooth, entertaining and maybe even enlightening gathering. You know what I mean. When we go to things, we want to be there and have a good time. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

 

But when you’re working to put on such an event, you see the gears and the work and the energy, turning behind the curtain. No one else is supposed to see all that, and when an event is successful, no one does. Those times are great! And as a worker bee, you don’t mind what goes into such events, as long as the outcome is positive. Mostly.

 

But! What if you’re doing your part behind the scenes, and you find out the goings-on are less than kosher. What do you do then? It happens. A lot. And I guess each individual is tasked with determining her or his feelings and limitations in those moments. I remember working a benefit to raise money for victims of Hurricane Katrina. I witnessed – with my own 2 eyes – the parking attendants skimming funds earmarked for the charity. I was livid and very nearly blew a gasket. (I found someone in charge, lost my shit while telling them what was going on and the matter was swiftly dealt with.) I’ve encountered other ugliness on the charity front, too. And each time, I’ve spoken up. That was what I had to do in the moment, in order to be able to sleep at night. You don’t steal from charity, y’all. Period.

 

So back to the sausage at hand… I’ve now glimpsed behind a new-to-me curtain, and I have to say – it was cooler to just be an attendee where that curtain hangs. Because even though a great number of decent souls work toward a common good, one asshole can really cast a pall on a scene. And that is, for the moment, the case with this particular sausage factory. But I’m holding out faith. So far. The good folks are the ones I associate with and they’re the ones I like and respect. Ugliness will always exist, and as far as I’m concerned, it can do a damn jig on a chair in the middle of the room. I don’t have to pay it any heed. I certainly don’t respect it. At my very best, I can muster up some pity for the perpetrators of ugliness. Those folks must surely be miserable and lonely. They certainly seem unhappy. It’s a vicious cycle, really. You feel unworthy, so you act unworthy. You feel unloved, so you don’t love. Yes – at my very best, I feel sympathy for the people who just don’t understand that you don’t have to be ugly to accomplish things in this world.

 

But that’s my very best. And that side of me seems to be taking a nap right now, because I am thinking those ugly ding-dongs could use a swift kick in the lady balls. But you know what? They’re not worth my time. Sadly, they probably don’t feel like they’re worth much even to themselves. It’s a vicious cycle.

Here’s a Quarter…

 

 

Yesterday I had coffee with a friend and we were chatting about certain individuals who seem committed to a life of douche-baggery. We spoke of our feelings and how we deal with these people, and at one point I said something or other about my belief that there are souls who will never choose differently. That some people will always be assholes, and that the only impetus for change in those folks will be death.

 

Later on I was going over that morning conversation and I wondered to myself if I ever wish death upon anyone. I thought long and hard about this. I know I’ve wished for friends (and former friends) to opt for their betterment. For example, when a former friend’s husband was pushing her around – physically – I desperately wanted her to love herself enough to decide she deserved better. I know I’ve wished for friends (and former friends) to pull focus and stop drowning in drama, and instead see how friggin’ privileged they are. Sometimes a person lifts herself up and sees life anew. Sometimes not. Hell, I’ve even wished for political assholes to see past the ends of their crooked noses. Do you think that often happens?

 

If I thought my input had any worth whatsoever, I’d get a $10 roll of coins and walk around, saying to the idiots of the world, “Here’s a quarter. Buy yourself a clue.” But my input has no value. My opinions are as worthless as the next schmo’s. How does the old saying go? Opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one and everyone thinks everybody else’s stinks.

 

So after thinking about all this, I realized I don’t wish death upon anyone. And I’m glad. I don’t want to be that person. For my sake. But I will say this: I can guaran-damn-tee I won’t mourn the deaths of a few folks in this world. Not enough quarters in the universe to help those buggers.