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tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

July 19, 2011

why the fuck why?

It’s a question I’m forced to ask myself every day. As I try to put something back together I’ve taken apart, and the wires won’t lay flat enough to allow the cover to close and the tiny nut won’t thread on the recessed post, I ask myself, “Why the fuck why?”

It’s a prayer of the unbeliever who doubts any of this makes sense. It’s the Mad Libs of talking points for the frustrated. You can fill in the blank with anything you’re angry with and expose how the world is built to work against you. Furthermore, it reveals you have bitten off more than you can chew when you decided to enter adulthood and the workforce.
“Why the fuck why can’t I get the Phillips bit out of the screw gun?”

Either I’m too dumb to understand a tool mass produced for the very application of quick changing between jobs, or people are building corporations selling construction tools that don’t work. Either way I lose and I’m forced to ask the question.

It’s not a pretty question. I apologize for that. But a question born out of the fear and confusion of a world freshly revealed to be working against you, a world that thinks you’re dumb, a world that wants to kill you too quickly, this question deserves to have the F word right up front.

By up front I mean to say there are two questions within this one question.

Why the fuck

Why the fuck is the question directed at the whole thing. Why did we stop being cavemen? Why does sugar taste so good but give us diabetes? And same about alcohol, but it makes us drive onto the sidewalk and kill indiscriminately. And why do people like to bite during sex? Why do I hate the ones I love?

That’s the gist of the first question. The second question is reserved for the more local and immediate example.

Why do I keep banging my head on that same low pipe? Why can’t I pay a parking ticket in 20 days? These little why’s make me think I’m still not an adult. That I should go back to school where teachers have answers. That I should be getting a higher level of care from the state because I can’t live up to these expectations of buckling up every time and coming to a stop at every red light.

When things get really bad, well, that’s what hammers are for.

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