Cat Fights
The thing about not knowing what you’ve got till its gone is a sticky truth, and one that inevitably jangles the bells in our heads when we finally get it. It’s sticky because we often breeze through life’s low fly zones without ever thinking ‘stop-over’ anywhere, any time … and really, it couldn’t hurt. Okay, okay I’m talking adventurer here not frequent flyer! And granted, sitting for a couple hours in a transit lounge isn’t that appealing, but really, what’s a couple of hours in an entire life time? Anyway, let’s get back to the issue.
Most of the time we’re pretty clued into our lives no matter how messy they get, we sort of know, relatively speaking, where something might be at … it’s a definite pity that regret is a hindsight thing rather than a foresight thing. I mean, imagine that! Understanding consequences BEFORE we do something silly, although, isn’t that possible now?
Acknowledging we know something to my mind, is not the same as knowing and doing something about it. And of course the inevitable let down comes when it’s no longer there and it’s not the regret or remorse or anything else for that matter … it’s about the gap that’s left there once the thing or person is gone!
It’s the gap that’s the sticky truth to swallow. It’s like the bit that sticks to the roof of our mouth and annoys the hell out of us until we do something about it. But here’s the thing, I get the impression rightly or wrongly, that we would rather gag on it in order to get the sympathy we feel we deserve! Human complexities aside, I’m always gob-smacked by that realisation! Call me cynical even.
Larry is blueing (australianism for fighting) again, I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. It seems like he’s in a blue every half hour and that has to be a record round here. He’s grumpy, antagonistic, bad-mannered and plain unhappy and do you think he’d even consider a helping hand?
I think he’d sooner (apologies in advance to all male quiche-eaters!) eat quiche. What’s with that? Now here’s an age old question, just why it is so hard for blokes to ask for help?
Lazza (in keeping with an australian proclivity for shortening names) probably needs a check up or something. I add ‘something’ to cover all my bases. I’m told they [blokes] are not so good at this kind of thing. I mean, they can schedule to meet up for a beer after work, they never forget the date or time of a State of Origin League match, they want to be there when the tachometer ticks over to 100,000kms but when it comes to having a check-up … well, it’s all too hard! Typical but unfortunate too!
I mean, to look at him, Lazza looks okay and is presently behaving like a grump, but we’re all capable of that. But what if something really is wrong with him? The only problem I can tell you Lazza has with any certainty right now is he’s getting deaf. Convenient yes?
Now this all goes back to where we started, not knowing what you’ve got till its gone. A person’s health is like that. Lazza, though I love him to bits is so cat-headed he’d rather pretend it’s not happening, whatever it is, than let a vet have a decent poke around. Looking out the window at Lazza now I’m wondering if that’s a fur ball he’s coughing up or something stuck to the roof of his mouth.
All joking aside, foresight is good when it taps us on the shoulder. I think I’ll have a chat to Lazza, time to get serious, whisker to whisker.
