About Silos and Shelters

Post 447:

            New theory. Life is sort of like an underground missile silo.

            We’ll circle back to that one. Not exactly a soft entry.

            Whew. I’ve been a little out of pocket for a few days. A little derelict in putting out posts. Everyone needs a break I guess, but I hate breaks. Breaks mean I have time to think—this usually leads me in a loop. Let’s just say that alone time and me have a push/pull relationship. Or something like that.

            I heard this guy say solitude was the worst disease of all. It was on TV, and I’m pretty sure he was serious. Clearly, he’s never had gout or chronic migraines or cancer or the frigging Spanish Flu. This yokel’s turning quiet and peace into maladies that actually eradicate people.

            So, whiny solitude guy is an idiot.

            But let’s talk about it. I’ve said on this blog that the best currency in the world, the most valuable commodity, is real conversation. Honest, out there, get to know someone conversation. So, if I stick to my guns, Captain Lonely has a little bit of an argument. Spiritually, anyhow, maybe he’s on to something.

            But spirit is one thing. Spirit takes a backseat when you’ve got leprosy. Just saying.

            I think being alone is great. I also think it’s addictive, and that’s when things get weird. God didn’t think the greatest idea was for man to be alone, so, tough to argue there. Then again, once old Adam got a companion, the whole universe fell into a death spiral. Not claiming cause and effect. Just reading the words. It’s in the Book and all.  

            So… there’s that.  

            This is why I go back and forth between wanting to be surrounded and packed away with all the people I love and wanting to be left the hell alone.

            And here’s where I will come to the missile silo thing. Life is one or the other more often than we like to admit—sometimes to an extreme degree. Feast or famine and all that. You’re either the one schmuck sitting in the hole about to go all freaking nuclear, or you’ve converted the hole in the ground to a sweet pad where you can bust a mad chill with all your dearest. (People actually do this)

            I’m not the most normal person, but these swings happen, and we’re never quite ready for them. You want to map out the future, make plans to have your finger on the button or be hanging in the bunker, but it’s rarely that simple. Time and circumstance push us around. Sometimes we don’t get to choose the silo or the bunker. Normal times might just be the breaks we get between silos or shelters.

            I don’t know. I’ve had a crazy life. I need a little crazy, and a little peace. So as loony as I might be, I suspect I’m like every other person that’s ever lived.

            People call them seasons. Today, at least, I’m calling them silos or shelters. Yes. The irony is thick with this one. Cheers and see you after.