Facet

I'm too flippant. Too frivolous. Too facetious.

I need to take things more seriously. The world is a serious place. People are dying. Nineteen people have died since I typed that 'g'.

I'm going to turn over a new leaf. On one side of the leaf will be something serious, like a graph or a passport application form. On the other side will be something even more serious, like a ring binder containing the suicide notes of orphans - they have no sentimental value to anyone, but are kept for legal reasons.

I'm going to turn over that leaf.

Even turning over leaves seems like a heartless thing to do. Think of all the good I could be doing with that energy. Turning over leaves (even a single leave) requires wrist movements that would be better employed turning the pages of sheet music for an armless flautist.

I should do that instead.

I've wasted so many words. This is my 677th blog post. If I had spent that time building a home for broken cats, it would have been finished long ago. I should be ashamed of myself. Think of all of those homeless broken cats. Think of them. They could be reclining in specially-made cat platforms (or "catplats"), instead of wandering the streets. In their heads. Because they can't wander. Because they're broken.

Poor broken cats.

On the other hand, the world needs laughter. And whilst I technically haven't ever made anyone laugh, I'm probably adding to the general pool of smiles. You might be smiling as you read this sentence.

Are you? Are you smiling right now?

If not, why not?

Just smile. Go on. If you're on your own, what does it matter?

I don't even care if it's an obviously fake smile. Do it anyway.

I bet some of you haven't smiled. Even though I asked you to smile, and a smile takes so little effort (unlike those arduous frowns, which I wouldn't foist upon my worst enemy).

So if you haven't smiled yet, please do so now.

OK.

Aren't we all feeling better now?

Perhaps being flippant, frivolous and facetious is what the world needs right now. If we tackle the world's problems with one raised eyebrow and a grin as wide as your aunt, we might realise that everything is just fine.

Though that orphan suicide note thing is pretty rough. I wonder what does happen in those situations. Where does the note go?

There's no family to pass it on to. There's no centralised Institute for Miscellaneous Grief, is there? That would be a difficult place to work: jars of ambiguous wailing, unaddressed letter bombs, unreadable weathered tombstones.

It's enough to make you appreciate how lucky we are. Except for those of use who are objectively unlucky. But they all died a couple of minutes ago, when their attempts at a blog-prompted smile ended in a fatal acid explosion.

Poor them.

***

Let's cheer things up a bit!

Q: What did one firefighter say to the other firefighter?

A: "AsphyxiNINED, more like!"

You can work out the rest.


Life's great.