You Only Have Today!
For the past twelve weeks you have endured listening to the endless dribble about my personal life. And now, week thirteen, you are probably asking yourself what have I learned? Or maybe you are questioning why you ever joined the Survivor pool. You didn’t sign up to be exposed to the inane ramblings of a hillbilly narcissist. And still, week after week you reluctantly read the first few lines of my blog and immediately scrolled to the very bottom to read about Survivor; the real reason you joined the pool. Or maybe you didn’t even bother to read the comments and instead opened the results spreadsheet to see what your ranking in the pool is. Well, I’m here to tell you that life is not fair, so suck it up because you have one last week to read my mind-numbing, incoherent, yet jubilant ramblings. Think of it as cough medicine and your parents are telling you to drink it up because it’s good for you.
So where do I begin? Well, I was born a coal miners son in a cabin on a hill in a town called Bucher Holler, Kentucky. No, wait, that’s Loretta Lynn’s life story. Mine involves a small town in Saskatchewan, three years of standing in the corner of a one room schoolhouse for unruly behavior, a goat as a best friend, and later in life a goat for a partner. What can I say, I’m loyal to a fault. When I make a friend, it’s a friend for life. Even with goats. Okay, I’m making shit up to kill time and fill four pages of content. So, sue me. Maybe the well has run dry and I’ve got nothing interesting to say. I thought maybe I would write about politics or world affairs but that’s too depressing and political, plus I really don’t know what the hell is going on outside my four padded walls. My blog is supposed to be slice of life scenarios with occasional stories about passing gas and befriending goats, you know, things people can relate to.
And so here we are. Week 13. Hmm. What do I talk about? Oh, it’s a holiday today. Apparently, we are celebrating Queen Victoria who we know absolutely nothing about other than she wore black for decades after her partner Prince Albert died and then she became hot for some Indian servant dude. I don’t blame her; I love Butter Chicken. Almost as much as goats. Well, not to eat. I mean, I would eat a chicken but not a goat. I suppose that makes me hypocritical. I’m sorry but I just can’t carry on a conversation with a chicken. All that squawking and head bobbing would drive me bananas. A goat at least makes eye contact with you and blinks twice to say yes and once to say no. Everyone knows that. But a chicken looks like it’s batshit crazy with its bugged-out eyes.
Anyhow, I went for a walk today with my partner Tom down to the new Toronto waterfront development. It was the most perfect weather so we wore shorts. Both our legs look like white sticks after a long winters absence and Toms face in particular, is two shades lighter than Casper the ghost’s. We forgot to put on sunblock so walked in the shade. I love my walks with Tom because he unleashes the thoughts that he bottles up all week. Today he told me that I’m a whiny little bitch and need to be a better listener and should be grateful for today. He said I should stop worrying about yesterday and tomorrow. Today could be my last day. Tomorrow I could be dead. Let’s just say I stopped and looked both ways before crossing the street. He also told me that my socks were too low and only old people wear ankle socks. Apparently all the kids today are wearing three-quarter length socks. Okay, I got it. Be grateful for TODAY and buy longer socks.
We made our way to a popular little smoked meat bistro by the water and decided to have sausage and potato salad. Tom decided after a few bites that North American food is shite and European food is superior. I reminded him that ordering takeout from France and Switzerland would probably bankrupt us. Apparently, Switzerland made an impression on him, and he remarked how fascinated he is with the fact that their free-range chickens are truly free to run around. He’s certain the ones he saw while on vacation were smiling. Not like the North American chicken factories where five hundred of them share a single balcony and are miserable. This is why the chicken in Europe is so delicious, he said. And the beef too. You can tell the cows are happy in Switzerland because they don’t mind wearing hats with flowers. He went on to explain that we didn’t get gas or bloating from eating European food. We’ve only been home a week and have been non-stop farting machines. As he put it, here in Canada all our food is ‘hermetically modified’. I didn’t have the heart or the nerve to correct him that he must mean ‘genetically modified’ because he’s irritable as hell today.
Thankfully on our walk back home the conversation changed courses and we left the likes of smiling chickens and farting behind and embarked on my probable ADHD diagnosis which is why I am sensitive to noise and never listen to what people are saying. I guess when you are a narcissist you don’t mind the conversation steering back to yourself even if it is critical. Tom explained that my ADHD is a mental illness and I’ve probably had it my whole life. He also said he’s probably mentally ill as well and it too has gone undiagnosed. I suppose it’s good we have something else in common besides being gassy and fondness of our ginger cat Hunter. I didn’t dare question him on what his mental illness is. That way I avoid a slap upside the head. As we continued our walk home, I repeated “ADHD” over and over to prove I was active listening in case he questions me later on what our conversation was about. He has been known to say “I told you once already and I’m not telling you again. It’s your problem if you don’t listen”.
Once we arrived home, I immediate googled ADHD and low and behold:
The three main symptoms of ADHD are hyperactivity, impulsivity, and inattention. All of this impact behavior, mood, and thinking. That’s why ADHD meets the criteria for mental illness.
Now what? What started out as a leisurely stroll on a warm spring holiday Monday, turned into a full-fledged mental illness diagnosis, acknowledgement of chronic gas, and proof that I have poor taste in footwear fashion. I started to feel bummed out and wondered what the point of tomorrow is? Oh, wait Tom already told me I should only think about today and that tomorrow is not important. But today sucks and I’m mentally ill and gassy. Maybe tomorrow I might wake up and put on longer socks and drink a nutritious protein shake and feel light as a feather. No bloating at all. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to get through an entire Wordle or Sudoku. That takes a lot of patience and focus. Maybe I’m not mentally ill after all? Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar, that tomorrow there’ll be sun. Just thinking about tomorrow clears away the cobwebs, and the sorrow ’til there’s none.
Shit, now I’m singing Broadway tunes. I’m afraid this final blog is not going so well. I had hoped to enlighten the masses with stories about growing up in rural Saskatchewan, travelling to far off lands, or even doing laundry and finding missing socks. Instead, I’m revealing my inner thoughts which on the surface make me look insane, ahem, I mean mentally ill. Back in the day, my grandfather Budnick used to call it Cuckoo Cuckoo when a person wasn’t right in the head. He was a real character and used to love wheeling and dealing and at the age of 98 was always trying to sell me pyjamas. I was ten years old and slept naked because I had a bed wetting problem. No way I could wear those pyjamas, let alone afford them on a paper route salary. Sorry grandpa. Still, there he was going door to door trying to unload a warehouse full of pajamas. And I’m the crazy one!
All the excitement of today made me tired, so I took a two-hour nap and woke up feeling like a new man. I looked out the front window and saw blue skies full of sunshine and heard birds softly chirping. I saw dogs running around the dog park happily playing as their owners threw balls and sticks at them. There were parents being pulled by their laughing young children into the petting zoo in the park. I saw young couples sitting on blankets having picnics while holding hands and making googly eyes at each other. I saw two hipsters sitting on a park bench smoking a doobie and looking very relaxed. I saw my neighbor sweeping his sidewalk looking back at me with a bewildered look on his face while I stood in the front window wearing only my underwear. I slowly backed away and laughed to myself and suddenly felt grateful for today.
So, what did we all learn TODAY? That it’s better to be in the moment and be thankful for what you have. Yesterday is over so there is no need to worry about it. Tomorrow is not here, and you should not care about what has not happened yet. But now, in this moment, today, try to be present, listen to the sounds around you, be thankful for what you have, where you live, and who you share your life with. Don’t worry how long your socks are. Don’t worry if you sleep naked and run around the house in your underwear. If the neighbors haven’t called the cops yet you are doing great. Don’t worry if you pass gas a lot (well, maybe see a doctor if it persists). Don’t worry if your partner or loved ones put you in your place and tell you like it is. At least they care. So what if you have a few little quirks. You’re doing pretty damn great if you are empathetic, kind to others, and mind your own business and just let others be who they are. To sum it up let me take some liberties with the lyrics from our beloved 1970’s band Fleetwood Mac:
If you wake up and don’t wanna smile.
If it takes just a little while.
Open your eyes, look at the day.
You’ll see things in a different way.
Don’t stop thinking about today, it’s already here.
It’ll be better than before. Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.
Ooh, don’t you look back.
Ooh, don’t you look back.
Ooh, don’t you look back.
Today certainly turned out to be a good day for Kenzie who took home the top prize of one million bucks on Survivor 46. Nobody saw it coming but I’m generally happy for her because she was consistently optimistic and caring from day one. Charlie should have won and possibly would have if Maria (warrior turned traitor) didn’t stab him in the back (TWICE!). She was always my favourite until she showed her true colors at the end by being a poor sport, disloyal, and showing us how vindictive she was. At least Charlie was kind-hearted and accepted his defeat with grace. My hope is singer superfan SIA will choose to give him some bonus bucks for his great efforts.
Is it me or was Liz completely off her rocker in her last days? The woman was always weird with her allergies, confessions of already being a millionaire, and her clicking wrists. But when she helped Kenzie win immunity instead of trying for herself and then announced that she is the only person who should win, she proved just how whackadoodle and delusional she really is. And what was up with Ben who turned out to be a hot mess with all his panic attacks, whining, and talking about being ‘rad’? I really liked the guy, but he completely fell apart. Still with all the drama, we were able to enjoy the DAY whenever Kenzie the smiling optimist appeared. And super cool Charlie as well who was always so welcoming. Q, who was the controlling weird one, finally redeemed himself with his brilliant question asking what the final 3 would do with the prize money. This is where we got a glimpse into the psyche of each player and realized who deserved to win.
Congratulations to our pool winners this season.
Primary Pool:
1st Kurt Budnick – $784
2nd & 3rd: Fern Block & Lance Pilon – $168 each
Secondary ‘MERGER’ Pool:
1st Steve Diakanastasis – $336
2nd Wes Grant -$144
Correctly Guessing Sole Survivor from the Start
1st Tracy Kingsbury – $50
2nd Trish Zehender – $50
Biggest Point Gain from Merger to Finale:
Steve Diakanastasis – $25
Biggest Loser at Finale:
Rhonda Rasmussen – $25
SYNW, Kurt
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