February 28, 2009

Karma's a bitch. Have you met her?

I've always wondered what Nike was thinking when they coined the slogan "Just Do It". What is it? Who were they talking to? Who just does anything?

I've come to the conclusion that they must have been talking to me, and that they mean exactly what is stated - just do it. They were somehow pinpointing my inept ability to procrastinate the very thought of doing "it".

The "it" is anything - the pile of unfinished homework due in two days, that jogging I should have done when the weather was nice, showering, the basket of unfolded laundry that has been sitting on the dryer for the better part of a month, returning a phone call, blogging, changing the roll of toilet paper, putting the NetFlix DVDs in the mail, charging my iPod, eating, etc.

"It" is any verb or noun that requires thought or action, thus, "it" is often shoved off the agenda by other thoughts and actions which themselves are doomed to the same fate. An endless cycle. Samsara, only I haven't been reborn as a llama at all - my incomplete actions just keep dying and reincarnating themselves as socks with no mates and dog poo on the stairs.

I've always heard karma is a bitch, but I had never met the woman until recently. I always thought missing the bus or falling down was just the way of the world; but then, it occurred to me: what if all this shit is connected?

If the entire universe came about from one chemical reaction somewhere in space, and if all living things have one common ancestor, doesn't that make everything physical somehow connected? Why, then, wouldn't our actions function around a similar principle?

These days I've sort of been picturing life as a big blanket being endlessly woven by karma. If you fuck something up, you miss a stitch. And of course, certain degrees of fucking up merit certain degrees of imperfections in the fabric. Me telling someone to "fuck off" because they were doing backflips on my bus is hardly going to create as big a snag as, let's say, killing that person by slamming on breaks and throwing them throug the windshield (which is much easier than you would think).

In light of this new thought process, nothing has changed. My laundry is still unfolded and I'm still going to tell passengers to go fuck themselves if they do stunts on my bus. I'm sure something will happen at some point in my life to actually give me some sort of motivation; but until then, my life's fabric is just gonna have to have a few rips and tears in it. But whatever - I can layer it.

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