The ants were fat this morning. Or maybe they were just blurry since I was making coffee and uncaffeinated.
Or maybe ants are a metaphor for those things that crawl in through the cracks of your foundation and manifest themselves in your kitchen. Which would be fine if they weren't on the counter.
Can a metaphor double as a real thing? I fu$%ing hate the ants, metaphoric and real.
My metaphoric ants are the projects that sneak up--the front porch, the garage, the garden--while I'm doing the stuff I dig--adventures with the girls, get-togethers and outings with peeps, time on the water, morning runs and trail runs, reading and writing.
On the one hand, life is short and you better be doing the stuff you dig. No other way to say it. On the other hand, no one likes (metaphoric) ants on the counter. It may be time to invest in some metaphorical Raid.
No comments:
Post a Comment