gray mylar spirit sprinting.
arm, sync, knee, slide bent.
Once upon a time, in a house across the street,there lived a Clever Wife and her Hamson Humsand. One day early on the path to living happily ever after, the Clever Wife passed a lidless garbage can on her way to work and thought, "Why in the world can't my Hamson Hubsand put the freaking lid ON the garbage can?" From that small spurt of anger, the Garbage Monster was born.
The Monster grew, thriving on each angry thought. The thoughts gave way to spoken words, and time forged the words into caustic chunks of self-righteous fury. The Hamson Hubsand quickly learned to protect himself with a glazed look and deadened ears that heard only the cadence of his Clever Wife's lecture, never the words she so carefully crafted. Should the Clever Wife notice the glazed look, she got louder and shriller, trying to pierce the Hubsand's armour with sharpened chunks fury. Instead, the fury flattened against the armour, becoming another layer of her Hamson Humsand's self defence.
Garbage Night became a ritual of Anger, a minefield on the happy marriage path. After a decade, the clever wife found herself battling not only her mate, but her little old grandmother, too. Little Old Gramma hoarded her garbage for weeks until she had full cans. She kept stinky garbage in bright yellow bags on the freezer door. She strung together empty plastic jugs for months and piled newspapers into three foot stacks. When the Clever Wife and her Hamson Hubsand moved in with Gramma, the Clever wife cleaned out the freezer, bundled up the newspapers, and tossed all the plastic into recycle bags. "It's my back," said the Clever Wife, "that drags the trash to the curb. You don't live at the end of a steep driveway anymore, Little Old Gramma. No more garbage in the freezer, please."
Little Old Gramma gave up her ways with the minimum of fuss, but she was very firm about sorting out recycles and wanted all cans, beer or otherwise, to be crushed flat. "Go for it, Gramma," sighed the Clever Wife. "I can't get Hamson Hubsand to put the cans in the right bags, let alone make him crush them. You show him what you want. He listens to you." But Little Old Gramma stubbornly refused to talk directly to the Hamson Hubsand because he might get mad and hate her forever.
Then one day, the Clever Wife watched her Little Old Gramma rummage through the garbage, sorting out uncrushed beer cans and something snapped inside her.
"That's IT! Terry, get over here!" shouted the Clever Wife, "I am DUN WITH GARBAGE! You, Gramma, you tell Terry what you expect, and you, Terry, listen to the old woman starting now!" With that, the Clever Wife jumped into the car and drove to her best friend's house to escape. For the next few weeks, the Clever Wife left home on garbage day. The Garbage Monster didn't just lay down and die, but slowly the Clever Wife used her sense of humor to keep It sickly. Today the Clever Wife celebrates Garbage Day.
Heed my story, friends, for I know that you know of this Monster and Its Kin. It may be the tube of toothpaste, money spent unwisely, or food wasted. The script could be aimed at a spouse, a child or a parent. Monsters are fed by their creators and clever scripts are their favorite foods. Recognize your Monster and you can get back on the happily ever after path.
If you don't dream they can't come true