Amidst all the endless days of pure joy and happiness in all things big and small there come the once in a while days that fling poo right into your cheery red face. I guess this happens to be one of those days.
Isn't the past a hard thing to get over? Especially when you still have the shit streaks on your clothes from the massive pile you climbed just recently? Also when the shit stack manages to grow arms and throw more poo at your back?
It's good to move forward, I love going in that direction and hate those moments where you're stuck in the same spot while your mind tries to mull over what the heck that steamy wet one now plopped right on top of you came from. Until your brain learns how to navigate the poop you're stuck in a squishy spot with no toilet paper in sight.
And it's not like you can pick up that poo that continues to splatter on your back and throw it right back; it's poo what does it care? You know that eventually the poo will sink into the Earth and become a faint memory. That the steaming shit pile will get what's coming to it because really what good comes from poo? If you try to bring the damage to the poo yourself well you just get another plop of it right on your head. So it's best to just keep moving forward, ignore the aroma, ignore the infrequent slaps on your back, and trudge forward until the muck turns into green grass.
Then you know you've made it, that you're better off now. You wouldn't be able to enjoy this green grass without the pains you went through to get here. But the sight is breathtaking, the scent is a pleasure, the joy and the happiness are shining bright and that poo? That poo was just a test of your might, a challenge. A checkpoint to make sure you really deserved this field full of growth and light. So with a shit eating grin you keep moving forward because now you know every poo pile can lead you to happiness.
And that's the last time I associate poo with joy. Promise.
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