A Crab With A Pinkish Hue

If I were a crab with a pinkish hue, I would tell all my little grandcrabs about how I escaped many years ago, while I was being boiled alive. I would tell them how I killed the chef with his own mustache. I would tell them how I had to hold my breath for 16 hours as I slowly scuttled my way back to the ocean. I would tell them how I live with one foot in the grave and they would all stare at my missing crabfoot, and their crabeyes would make their way up to my crippled crab crutch, clutched under my crabarm.

I’d tell them about when I got back and the girlcrabs were all over me.

I would regale them with a story of the time the mayor of crabtown offered me a medal for my heroic brave crabbery. I would write a memoir called “memoirs of a crab with a pinkish hue.” I would sell millions of copies in hundreds of crab-languages.

I would give motivational crabspeeches at renowned crabuniversities. I wouldn’t have a large crabhead about it though. I would maintain the crabmodesty passed onto me by my crabgrandfather, who was in Crab War II. I would try to go about my normal crablife without the crabpress or the crabparazzi sensationalizing the event. I would always tell people my story one-on-one, on my own terms, so they could understand the crabfeelings I experienced during my landtrials.

In my older age, I would start a new crabreligion, whereby crabyouths are forced to endure a landtrial of their own. That would be very native crabmerican of me, and I would feel a connection with mother sea. On my crabdeathbed, I would have every crab dear to my crabheart huddle around my crabfire and I would tell them how much they’ve meant to me throughout all my crabyears. Then, I would take the crabliverspotted crabhand of my dear crabwife and I would pass away quietly.

I would scuttle into the great ocean in the sky, ready to face my crabdeathtrials so I could enter crabhalla.

On quiet nights forever more, crabs would hear me whisper encouraging crabwords  to them as they faced great crabdifficulties in their crablives.

And for many crabyears to come, around crabfires under full crabmoons, my story would be told: the Legend of the Crab with the Pinkish Hue.

A Bit More Optimistic

Today was a pretty rough day.

I was planning to film a sketch that I’m very proud of with two of my friends, but we got rained out for hours and had to reschedule for another weekend.

I didn’t stick to any of my writing goals today at ALL.

Instead I played Halo Wars until I beat it and was extremely disappointed in it.

Then I lost a cage match show at Coldtowne.

I didn’t feel that we lost because we didn’t have enough friends in the audience voting for us.

I feel that we lost because we didn’t give a strong performance, which made me feel even worse than I was feeling already.

And to top it off, I felt weird around three of my closest friends after the show.

So I finally called the day quits and decided to head home and do one of two things:

1. Vent all my frustrations into a notebook.

2. Watch a movie and try to shut my brain off for a bit.

 

I got in the door, and I noticed a tiny blue Risk 2210 game piece in the corner of my dining room on the floor.

Because of the dramatic and depressed mood I was in, I thought “Dammit, now I have to go find the game, open the huge box, lift up all the papers and boards and put this one tiny piece in. Then I have to replace everything and put the box back up. What a fucking hassle! (mental groan).”

 

So I got the game box and set it on the arm of the couch. I lifted the box lid off the huge box and as the lid finally slipped off, the ENTIRE BOX went ass-over-teakettle bouncing off the couch and onto the floor.

It landed completely upside down.

All of the pieces exploded over my couch cushions, flew under my couch and coffee table, and scattered on my floor.

 

I could have thought “This is the last fucking straw!” or “Seriously?! Can’t one thing go right today?!”

Instead I actually laughed out loud and thought “Perfect. Now I have a mindless manual task I can do while I reset my brain. This is perfect timing for a mess to clean up.”

 

So I happily picked up every single one of the FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE little game pieces, as well as the dice, chips, and huge deck of cards.

And when I was finished, I felt much better!

 

You view life the way you choose to, every minute of every day.

I’m choosing to let this ridiculously-timed, clumsy accident be a good slap in my mental face.

I’m choosing to be more optimistic starting now.

it'll be a cold day in hell...

All of my improbable wishes have come true, ever since that swine flew...