Life is a series of obstacles ruining naps
BURTON W. COLE, Editor
By Burton W. Cole
The statement read, “Life is just a series of obstacles preventing you from reading your book.”
Obstacles. One of the biggest I faced was my very own father. How is one supposed to concentrate on the chase with Frank and Joe Hardy when Dad is constantly interrupting:
“Burton William, put that book down right now and clean your room!”
“I’m not telling you again, put down that book and get out to the barn. The cows aren’t going to milk themselves!”
“Burton! The house is one fire! Drop the book, roll off the couch and run!”
OK, that last one didn’t actually happen, but I imagine that’s what Dad would demand, even if only had two more pages to go to get to the end of the chapter.
Obstacles. Chores and responsibilities are the worst intrusions into book time.
If I sat on the floor and propped my book on my knees, right in the middle of a very important panel of Donald Duck, the coach would sling a basketball at my head and holler, “Cole! Get up and guard your man! He just scored AGAIN!”
Or right when Sherlock Holmes was about to deduce whodunnit, the teacher would snatch away my book and growl, “Burton, this is algebra class. How would you like a detention slip for a bookmark?”
At work, I couldn’t even finish my, uh, research of Dave Barry’s latest book without the editor slamming his fist on my desk and shouting, “Burt, the presses were supposed to roll three minutes ago! Where’s your story on the city council firing?”
Obstacles. It seems that all of life objects to reading.
It’s not just books. Life also tends to disturb naps, cartoons and chocolate Ding Dongs.
Years ago, I possessed something called metabolism. What that meant was that as a growing teenage boy, I could do anything and everything all day long—including Ding Dongs, Ho Hos and Snoballs — and still clock in at a broomstick-thin 135 pounds.
Somewhere along the way, when I was 25 or 30, I set my metabolism down somewhere, just for a minute. Someone must have stolen it. I haven’t seen it since.
The bathroom scales started spinning out of control, medical tests started coming back with odd readings, and my doctor not only made me give up Hostess Cupcakes, but I had to break up with my steady girlfriend Little Debbie.
Obstacles. Life meant to keep me from Things That Taste Good. Here, chew on this raw rutabaga.
Doctors also preach the importance of getting enough sleep. If we don’t snooze, we lose focus and tend to screw up our work. So why does the boss yell every single time he finds me curled up under my desk with a pillow and blanket. I’m simply trying to improve our product.
Obstacles. As an author, it’s my job to study cartoons for content to trigger lines of thought. It’s my job to stare out the window at nothing. Daydreaming IS working. I’m constructing plots, characters and quirks in my head.
So Sweetheart, stop shaking my shoulder and spouting crazy words like, “As long as you’re not doing anything anyway, how about you hang that shelf like I asked you to do six months ago?” I AM working. Stop being such an obstacle.
(That one didn’t end well.)
I have since seen other signs and memes about “life is a series of obstacles preventing you from…” And the sentence finishes with any number of desired activities: taking a nap; fishing; crafting; etc., etc., etc.
Maybe obstacles are life.
It was ultramarathon runner Dean Karnazes who penned, “Life is a series of obstacles and setbacks; living is overcoming them.”
He also is the great philosopher known for running 350 miles in 80 hours and 44 minutes without sleep in 2005.
If you don’t mind, Mr. Karnazes, I’ll take the obstacle. Oh, and can you pass me my book, pillow and the box of Ho Hos? Those should be sufficient obstacles.
Send Burt roadblocks at news@falmouthoutlook.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.