Life Sucks. Get a Helmet.

This is just a friendly, Friday-ish reminder from me that when you think you're life is shit, and you're weeping and wailing about it, and in general feeling sorry for yourself about nothing serious, well, just remember there is somebody out there who's life definitely is shit.

As the wise man once said, "Perspective matters."

The new landlord moved into the Cake Eater Pad on May 1st, and we're pretty happy with the guy. So far, so good. He's a little loud when watching the NBA playoffs, but that's forgivable. I get a little loud when I watch the news. It's all good. The only issue I have with him is that he keeps putting off calling the plumber to see what needs to be done about my dishwasher that has been on the fritz since last fall. No worries, though. He'll get to it eventually; he's not ignoring me out of spite or cheapness like the Great White Hunter and Tweedledumb would have done. He's young, too. As in his middle-twenties. Neither is he married. Hence, he has a roommate, who is yet another really nice, unmarried young man in his mid-twenties.

Well, the husband was chatting with the roommate last night and during the course of the conversation the husband learned that the roommate is going into the hospital today for surgery. He told the husband because he wanted to let us know that no one was going to be around this weekend, as the landlord is out of town on business. You see, the reason for the surgery is that he has testicular cancer and he has to have something (I think you can probably guess what) removed. The husband didn't give me many details about the conversation, because I think he was a bit stunned and didn't ask. The offer of "if you need anything at all, please let us know," was proffered, but I don't know that the guy feels comfortable enough with us to take us up on it. And that's fine: we've only known him for thirteen days.

I just saw him walking to his car to go to the hospital. His girlfriend was with him and he looked determined. He was carrying his suitcase, swinging it mildly, like he knew he wasn't going to be able to do that when he came home, so he was going to get in as much of that activity while he could. He was walking with a distinct purpose, like the time had finally arrived for him to go off to war, and there was no need to dither about like a sentimental fool. It was inevitable. The thought, "let's get it over with" was written all over his young face. His girlfriend looked resigned, maybe even a little tired, and her lips were puckered with worry. She was dressed comfortably in a polar fleece, basketball pants and cross-trainers for what will undoubtedly be a long day of sitting around a hospital, waiting for doctors to come and tell her what the scoop is.

Life, at this particular point in time, is sucking pretty badly for these two people. But it's obvious that they've acquired helmets and have put them on, to protect their noggins from whatever might come flying at them in the next few days.

I suppose this should serve as a friendly reminder that no matter what you're going through, it could always be worse. Sometimes we need a reminder every now and again of this fact. If you're feeling sorry for yourself this morning, and are weeping and wailing about your own problems, well, take a lesson from these two people: get your own helmet and batter through your own problems, because, after all, it could be worse.

Posted by Kathy at May 13, 2005 10:49 AM