Ever heard the expression, watching paint dry?
I have, and I did it.
It’s pretty damn boring.
Pretty in the sense there is a subtle but beautiful change in a pigments hue between the time when the paint is first applied and when it is finally dry. Boring in that it takes the paint a long time to dry, and when you only have a few days to live, well it seems a bit of a waste of time.
Hello, my name is Musca; and I’m one of those guys who like to hang around. You’ll know me, although I’m sure you won’t remember. I’m one of those guys no one bothers to get to know. I’m always here and there and you love to cuss and curse me; but apart from that you never pay me any real attention. You’ll probably be surprised I even have a name. Yep, I’m an adjunct to most peoples lives, just flying through.
While you can’t be bothered to get to know me, let me assure you, I know I like to bother you! And because of this, I think it would be fair to say most people hate me; hate me with a ferocity usually only reserved for enemies of the state and frocked peado’s!
Yes Sir, people hate me that much!
Can’t blame them I suppose. I know I wouldn’t want someone shitting and spitting all over my food and skin either. So I guess it’s fair enough.
‘I want to paint the wall a sepia tone,’ I heard the woman say, ‘it reminds me of Nelson in the autumn.’
Sepia might well remind her of Nelson in May but for the last two days I feel as though I’ve been trapped of in horrific never ending Vaudeville tragedy (less the strongmen and dancing girls of course). And it’s about to close with an all mighty bang. The bang being me. Trapped; I’ve been the proverbial fly on the wall,
So why am telling you this?
Well, I’ve been stuck here on this wall for two whole days now. I’d already been alive for two days, so by my reckoning I only have about about two days left on this god forsaken planet. But not if that Daddy Long Legs with her graceful poetic limbs on the wall opposite spies me. She’s been on the prowl for a while now and if she gets a whiff of me, I’ll liquidised spider fodder before you can say ‘Sylvia Gerrish.‘
Image: NYPL Digital Gallery
So either way at least half my life will have been stuck here on this wall. I’d only landed to take a comfort stop. All six legs instantly becoming stuck in the wet paint. That’s when everything turned to shit – literally. Having to go; but head facing down, the rule of gravity reigned supreme and I ended up with my own fly spot all over me. Nice.
And just yesterday my cousin Shane flew by. He spotted my frantic flailing and failing attempts to escape. My butt twerking as my knees and hips buckled and twisted in desperation. Rather than try and help, rather than stop and reassure me with kind words and hope, he mounted me. Yes my own cousin, taking advantage. The physical pain only being outweighed by the indignity of it all. He’s not even homosexual – the bastard!
Anyway, the point of why I am telling you this is that no matter how bad your life is, things could always be worse. There’s always someone worse off than you and even if you can’t abide them, or hate them with a passion, you should always find sympathy in your heart for others, especially if they have a shitty face, a sore arse and are about to be turned into spider food.
Argh, Sylvia Gerr…