A Jim Dies, Another Jim Is Alive
There’s this saying that seems like it will stand the test of time, “When one door closes, another door opens”. The sliver of a gripe I have when it comes to that saying is that I have a hard time not wondering about the previous door that closed. Maybe it’s just me with my “head in the clouds” or like the local Macy’s worker calls it, “being retarded”. I’m trying to see if that previous door was slammed or gently shut, what if there is a chance to go back to that door? Of course if you are a cannibal, there’s no going back. The only door that will open up is possibly a prison door, maybe the doors to a butcher shop or an interview but that’s it. It may seem like I’m a moron that is just eating this shit ideology up because I have nothing to look forward to but I don’t really need more doors. Life is already a gamble, even when gambling at the table with a pocket full of scratch offs. Whose to say that the next door that opens up doesn’t suck, I don’t think that you get to choose the next door that opens for you. If you did get to choose, you would be arrested the same way those Store Clerks get cuffed for stashing all the winning tickets for themselves and sending a neutral relative upstate to redeem them. I want my old door back, I don’t want to accept this predetermined fall from grace. It took me 11 years to get great at the Duck Hunt video game, I’m not going to let that door shut so easy! I could lose a finger like Ronnie Lott or Tony Iommi, you have to alligator roll my primary arm off its cuff before I’d consider shutting that door! I unfortunately never trained my off hand to quick draw like my primary hand. In this scenario, I could care less about the next door opening. I’d probably become a self loathing loafer that hangs and roams the hallways or the balcony of an apartment, where there’s no doors to open. I’ll wear tree camo fatigues so I can’t be accused of stolen valor, the right sleeve will be tied in a knot to emphasize my armlessness. I’ll catch pigeons or doves with a shoelace from my right combat boot and eat them like Ozzy. I wouldn’t even try to shower anymore, I don’t think my off hand could handle the responsibility of not dropping the bar of soap.