I can’t get any. No, no, no. It seems there was a popular song along these lines some years back. The Rolling papers or something. Poor sap just couldn’t find any satisfaction. It does seem illusive at times. What really trips your trigger and just keeps on pleasing you long after the recoil? What satisfies that unquenchable thirst of yours? Do you just settle into a pragmatic quagmire of good enough?
That stupid itch that can’t get scratched is really annoying. Left hand over right shoulder. Right hand around right side and up to mid back. Try again left hand around left side and up. Nothing works. Back scratcher, door post, pine tree nothing works. Zero zip notta.
Where is the tang in life? Where are those pulse racing, heavy breathing every cell alive and screaming woo hoo day in day out, rubber meets the road, life on the cutting edge, saucy, tangy times kinda times anyway? I don’t know and it bothers me. Especially today.
What have I missed and of all days why today? A tide rolled in from who knows where bringing with it a beach full of anxiety. As numerous as the uncountable sands the tiny explosions rip at a consciousness unable or unwilling to change frequencies. Lost remote snickers in amusement. This channel should be avoided always. Maybe the program bounces around. Different day, time and channel awaiting for the moment to snare it’s prey. Today now playing another frigging rerun of That’s My Life. Boring. Where’s the damn remote anyway? You snickering SOB, I hear you under the cushion!
Find the keys and get out of here. Go for a ride. Grab the camera and go find inspiration. Digital satisfaction awaits. Autumn beauty lays like a centerfold at every turn. Alluring Miss October beckons come on. Sultry lady, pouting, teasing, pleasing but not today. Nothing. My eyes are glazed. Fixed on some point between retina and wonder. Some kind of visual purgatory. Almost but not hardly in focus. Just a dull blurring shallow depth of field kinda day. Later Miss October.
What is it with satisfaction? Do you have those days when your favorites are bland and no amount of shaking the shaker will liven things up? Been there, done that Tees aren’t sold at this event. Who wants to remember them. All the Sunday school answers seem shallow. What would Jesus do doesn’t help. I mean really! God incarnate can do anything. Why wouldn’t I be satisfied if I could do anything? No, there has to be more to this satisfaction thang.
Some where along the linguistics corridor satisfaction and contentment got tangled up in the hallway. Upon righting themselves it appears they define themselves as some semblance of the other. That doesn’t help this general melancholic funk at the moment. I thought surly if I can find no satisfaction I could at least be content with that. Oh well, ever onward through this pragmatic quagmire one step at the time. It is well enough with my soul.