Go ahead. I don't care. You can cry all you want. That’s what I heard too often as a kid. Well-meaning parents resort to tough love. Make it clear to children that all the crocodile tears in the world won't get those spoiled little brats what they think they want. Life is always a bunch of big and small bummers. Watching little kids in department stores and supermarkets going apeshit, bawling over a candy bar or a plastic toy they can't have. Could that be me? Some say life is pain, suffering, and constant sorrow. Minor inconveniences soon fade and disappear.
Trouble always finds its intended victim. Whether self-inflicted or some outside force that plagues waking hours. There's no way around it. You can say fuck it all and pretend everything's fine. That works most of the time. But fighting heebie-jeebies isn't the best way to go for a restful night's sleep. The worst fears creep about in the dead of night to mull over. Then, in the light of day, they vanish only to return again at three a.m.
The quasi-legendary Root Boy Slim's song “Everybody’s Got a Problem” sums it up nicely. "Tell it to, Oprah, tell it to Phil, tell your problems to Sally Jesse Raphael." Today, pseudo-doctors and TV guru know-it-alls offer up hair-brain DIY self-help remedies and lame answers to life's biggest quandaries. But these charlatans are no help at all. Instead, they put cheap band-aids that never stick on gushing wounds.
Since when did personal problems go public? Is nothing private? It's everybody's business. And they always have lousy prescriptions. Tainted bullshit opinions about your problems never solve anything. Ask Dear Abby what to do about a hangnail, or post an inquiry to the channel 6 news team inquiring how to fix your clogged toilet without getting your hands dirty. People are helpless when it comes to life's tricky predicaments. The majority of pettiness in the fuckery of daily existence originates from who knows where. Stormy clouds of doubt gather, predicting lousy weather ahead, forming delusions in fevered, paranoid brains. That unknown fear factor in the strange equation, taking your next breath while stepping into tomorrow's unlucky scat.
Is it any wonder why the world is so worried? It takes a lot of stamina to persevere and get through a single day, much less a lifetime of dismay. If you've made it this far relatively intact and unscathed, count yourself among the lucky few. Overcoming obstacles and sidestepping disaster is an art. Do you think you've got problems? You only have to look around at everyone and realize just how lucky you are. To be blessed with good luck and health is always preferable to wallowing in a mire of filth and degradation.
Dumb luck is a twist of fate. You may have a good run for a while, but something always trips it up. Life plays dirty. It's a cheater. Life wants more life until you fold, go bust, and belly up. Surviving isn’t enough in our weird ways of coping in modern times. All the doom and gloom compounds our worst fears. That piece of gristle stuck between your teeth. A thorn in the side of life's minor disasters.
Problems happen, and are a nuisance. They never cease. There's always something waiting for you after that last hurdle is overcome, right around the corner of tomorrow's yesterday. Lurking around today's shadows in broad daylight. It never ends. So, solving the equation of toil and trouble, look no further than the reflection of what others want you to be in the grand scheme. That's right, you're the issue, and that's another fucking problem.