An Open Letter to The Universe

Dear Universe

There seems to be club of people for whom life is, well, easy. I don’t mean to undermine their trials and tribulations – long queues, user unfriendly banking hours and the absence of any attempt at customer service in South Africa are very real frustrations.  However, I don’t really feel that this compares to some of the trials and tribulations which I seem to face.

I’m nice to bank tellers. I pay my traffic fines.  I don’t try to bribe cops. I don’t drink and drive. I work hard. I try not to badmouth my colleagues (unless the situation requires it in lieu of killing them).  I even refer to many who are technically subordinates as colleagues… I’m respectful to cold-callers who insist that I  do need a second contract.

Now the people in this club seem to have no problem finding someone to love them, marry them and have kids with (even though some of them, I’d like to point out, have a lot more viable eggs left than me).  They appear to have supportive parents.  Somehow, inspite of having a smaller income than me, they manage to buy their own homes without selling organs on the black market.

The members of this club are often skinny, sometimes effortlessly so, but I’ve often found that they seem to enjoy exercise (couldn’t I have had a little piece of that pie?).  They even have time to exercise. They don’t manage to convert their mascara into raccoon eyes within 30 minutes of application because apparently when their mascara says “waterproof” and “hypoallergenic” it actually is.  They’re often pretty – and not just to the myopic octogenarians.

I’m not a glass half empty person.  Neither am I a glass half-full person.  I’m really more of a “now where did I put my glass of wine?” person. I think that should count for something.

So, my father is terminally ill.  I’m trying really hard to stop writing eulogies in my head and I cry in traffic much less these days.  I think I’m just about getting to the point where I can bear the fact that if I ever attain (at least a partial) membership to this club and meet The One, odds are, my dad won’t walk me down the isle.  If I have kids, they won’t get to know their grandfather.  I’m even a little grateful that at least I’ve had time to show him I love him and say goodbye.

Now my Ouma has also died.  She had the death she always wanted – quick, relatively painless and without any preceding disability, but really, the timing?  Was that really necessary?

On the subject of timing… Did my dad really need to be admitted to hospital with a potentially life threatening condition the night before I started a really intensive (and expensive) 3 day course that was going to suck my soul out anyway?

Now I’m told the darkest time of night is just before the dawn.  I believe this is zen-hippie speak for “toughen the fuck up” but I can’t be sure because I’m not fluent.  I’m also a little skeptical because this night is starting to seem awfully long.

In view of the above: could I not have been spared the broken washing machine, the brake pads that need replacing, the computer that freezes at completely random intervals, the stream of beggars at my door, my work, my car – many of whom seem to think that yelling at me will work when simple begging has failed…

And possibly, just possibly, could I perhaps get away without the ingrown hairs and teenage acne?  I have, after all, not been a teenager for well over a decade thanks to your relentless and sneaky speeding up of the passage of time.

Kind Regards (Although I suspect we both know that’s not what I really want to say…)

Me

PS.  Could you please smite the people who send emails around of relentlessly cheerful invalids with only 2 arms and no legs, or no limbs – just hands and feet attached to a torso, with captions like “this is really inspiring” or something underhanded that implies your life is completely perfect because you came with all your parts and you should never ever complain again.

PPS.  Failing all of the above: could I PLEASE apply for late membership to the club?

- Gleam