Holes

It’s getting pretty bleak again. It seems that the rainy season has finally caught up with my summer, the wet weather chasing away the last remaining sheen of those shiny days. All that’s left is this starkness, a gaping hole in the pit of my stomach. It’s amusing that a few weeks ago, I thought it resembled a glossy smile complete with lipstick– luscious red with diamond sparkle I think. Now it’s more of a grimace.

If corn stories are to be believed, every man is born with a gaping hole. And according to legend, for every gaping hole there is somebody else, a woman (sometimes a man), who has the the perfect plug to fill that hole. Some would spend their whole lives looking for that perfect plug. Some would find it, some wouldn’t. The irony here is that some of those who were able to find their perfect plug don’t have any idea what to do with it. Or if they do, the plug won’t have anything to do with them. It’s actually pretty funny if you think of it in an Ice Age-y kind of way. Remember that crazy squirrel and his nut? Until it happens to you. The funniest joke ceases to be fun when you become the punchline.