Sabs' Crap-Comedy

The Underwear We Call Life

So, I had an emotional breakdown yesterday that I’m going to chalk up to a combination of homesickness and a very unwarranted PMS. Of course, since I am the obedient child my parents raised me to be, I once again suckled on my mother’s teet and cried via voicenote for hours. Some might find this to be the sign of a very healthy mother-daughter relationship, but I prefer to call it a post-pubescent emotional dependency that will push any Mother’s Day Hallmark card to its softened knees.

While drying my tears and wiping my nose, my mother responded the following: stop being a little bitch and have fun, but also watch Inside Out. I’ll be honest with you, I had my doubts about watching it; the touchy-feely aura that Pixar practically bleeds is way too hard core for my practiced cynicism, but I was pleasantly surprised by it.

Of course, I did cry for most of the movie, but I’m going to pretend that it was due to PMS and not to the fact that underneath my blackened-soul exterior I actually might have an actively pumping heart. It was actually quite embarrassing, because my roommate kept on giving me snide looks in between my honest to god sobs. I will now begin to give a glorious recount of my favorite part like a kindergartener that anxiously awaits show and tell:

Basically, the movie is about an eleven-year-old girl that moves to San Francisco and experiences homesickness, which, I mean, is very relatable (might be why I cried a little, okay, a lot). And the movie is actually based on what goes on inside of this girl’s head; so there are different characters inside of her brain that represent Joy, Anger, Fear, Disgust, and Sadness. I have to say I pretty much bawled my dry eyes out when Joy discovered the purpose of Sadness. It was very enlightening to the point that I gathered the energy to leave my dorm for food. I highly recommend the film. I might watch it again today.

So, sadness, right? Why do we have it. I guess if we didn’t have it we’d all pretty much look like we’re on drugs. I mean sadness is the only emotional tool we have to process the runny shits that are farted out of life. And some runny shits are easier to deal with than others, but all are equally necessary and, well, shitty. Yes, you read it correctly: life’s diarrhea is truly necessary.

Why is it necessary? Because it makes us grow, and, to continue with the metaphor, helps us learn how to clean up. Humans are messy because life is messier, but sometimes we make the messiest mess even messier, if you catch my drift, and sadness is just one of the ways to acknowledge how fucked we are and how fucked up we have been, because who the hell wants to make a messier mess? We do. We live for that shit, quite literally. And then we show our stained underwear to the world like a freaking emblem of our personality flag. We shout, “LOOKED AT HOW FUCKED I AM FOR FUCKING THINGS UP EVEN MORE!”

And the worst part about it is that we live in this shatted underwear and never bother to clean it, because, fuck, it’s much easier and satisfying to wave the poopy flag. It’s kind of the same gross and irrational satisfaction that you feel when popping a really ripe pimple.

But you know, to each his own, if you want to have a hiney rash due to the unwashed underwear we call our life, then full speed ahead. I’ve got no problem with it. Hell, I’ve even done it myself. But due to my recent goal to become a mature adult, I’ve decided to clean myself before I end up full of shit.

Sadness is the strong, strong life cleaner detergent. Embrace it, because if not we’ll all just become expert bullshitters.

2 thoughts on “The Underwear We Call Life”

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