It was a casual but sincere parting at the end of a brief conversation. “Hope things are going your way,” she said, and I laughed and laughed. I threw my head back and cackled like a madwoman. If anyone in the apartment next door heard me they would have believed I was destined for the funny farm in a funny jacket in a funny ambulance.
‘Hope things are going my way.’ As if.
Darling. Baby. If things were going my way the world would look a whole lot different let me tell you:
If things were going MY way, Donald Trump never would have emerged from his black and gold glass troll cave. He’d spend the rest of his days in his gilded cage with his tiny, cold hands and his tiny cold heart typing tiny cold words that would endanger no one, rather like a mosquito buzzing in one’s ear.
If things were going my way, cancer would not be a thing, fullstop. And we could really do without Ebola, Zika, and Lyme, too.
There would be no mounds of plastic on the shores of rivers or floating in abysmal ocean trenches or excavated from the tummies of whales and turtles. Nope.
If things were going my way everybody could hoof it to their corner store and buy fresh food for dinner. I don’t wanna hear about food deserts any more, ridiculous. Why should only people with cars or Uber or a Metro card be the only ones to have access to fresh greens? NOBODY should be eating Spam from a can and TV dinners every night of the week!
And don’t even get me started on clean water for Flint, Michigan. If things were going my way, we’d never hear the words “another school shooting” ever again.
Yeah, things are going my way, just zippity doo, because I have the leisure to think about things and complain about it to you. Or pray then start a revolution…