Disappointment- another word dissection

Hello again and welcome to Deon’s Dissection Table and Random Rambling.  Today on the table we have another word:  Disappointment.

I have to tell you, I still feel a deep connection to my bitterness, but I’ll take a good thing and tell it all day too.  So today I have something more positive.  Trust me!  I promise! I know, you’ve heard that line before from other guys, but hey, I’m Deon, and I approved this message.  If I’ve ever lied to you before, shut the hell up, or tell your own fish story in the comments below IF YOU DARE!!  I have secret powers and I’ll do…something about it. No one will believe you anyway.

My bitterness chafes me almost as much as Ben’s bitterness chafes him.  Go.  Go now and read the better bitterness of Ben.  Ben makes me feel like I’m just a little less lonely in the world.  I read his blog and commiserate in the suffering and bitterness, and there’s usually a hint of humour in spite of the bitterness, unlike my own writing which has had most of the real humour sucked out of it, along with most of the life, all of the creativity, and none of the lameness.  Sucked.  Out.  Which leaves me aware that, like a black hole of emptiness, my writing sucks.  Again, if I’m lying, just tell me all about it in your comments IF YOU DARE!!

Proverbs 13:12 is my favorite verse today.  I like part B a whole HELL of a lot more than part A.  Part A is all about the fucking waiting.  I HATE waiting, which I’ve spent most of my life doing.  While working my ass off, not making any progress in life toward wealth or success.  Mother Theresa can have all my poverty, I think she secretly liked it. And so can all those success preachers.  Part A is all about the word of the day, “disappointment.”  Bitterness chafes me and the disapp- ointment I was given for it ISN’T FUCKING HELPING.  Maybe it’ll help you:

Disapp™ Ointment!  Try some today!!

Proverbs 13:12 New International Version (NIV)

12 Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
    but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

I said there would be something good so here it is:  I experienced something I can only describe as divine timing, no shit.  I mean, holy shit.  We’ve had quite a bit of rain so the grass was pretty high.  Like a few other people I know, I have two yards to take care of.  My own, and a lawn owned by a couple of senior citizens.  Hint: my mum is one of those.   We had a break in the rain and a bit of heat, I had an appointment cancel, and was able to finish mum’s grass RIGHT before the rain and dark overtook the daylight.  I heard the thunder, wrapped it up, put it away, and I swear, cats, dogs and elephants started falling from the sky, splashing down in great torrents. I had just enough time to get it done. Dad’s stamina is not up to the magnitude of his yard, but his neighborhood demands it be kept under reasonable control.  Mine does that to me too, fuckers.  When it rains, they want me to cut it.  When it doesn’t rain they want me to pay for the extra water bill, so I have to cut it.  Or they want me to pay someone to handle it.  Fuckers, if you want my lawn to be on the cover of some fucking magazine, YOU pay the bill to maintain it to your standard of beauty.  I don’t even like to SHAVE, and don’t want to have to do your bidding on my grass. I watched the neighbor’s fucking DOG shit in my yard (presumably again), today.  I actually witnessed it, so the droppings get nicely thrown back into their yard when I mow again.  Fuck you, dog owner who can’t be arsed to train the dog to shit in your own yard, or “curb” it yourself.  “Curb” has come to mean “pick up your dog’s shit,” and socially I can understand the graceful etiquette behind the word choice.  What I don’t understand is the lack of some dog owner’s etiquette of not going behind their dog’s behind and picking that shit up if it’s not in their own damned yard.

It was hard work, stopping all too often to clean dad’s old mower from clogged mulchy bits of grassy gunk.  It was no fun.  But I celebrated when I was finally done.  I literally thanked God.  Who else would have held off the rain just long enough? Satan would have rained all over my grass-stained ass, and then instead of a “thank you,” all I’d have had left was a gracias.  I mean a grassy-ass. Then the next day, and today, I’m still sore for the adventure.  And next week sometime(s) I’ll go back over and do it again.  It’s a sprawling estate, not like my tiny little yard, that thing goes on forever and it’s a push mower without a self-driving mechanism to pull itself along.  But I’ll say it again.  The weather forecast lied late last week and I didn’t expect the rain when I was trying to finish before, but two days ago, it was perfect timing.  Divine timing.  Maybe not a big miracle to you, but I’ll take them when they come and try to call attention to them.  This was very affirming to my faith, despite my nearness to my bitterness.

The verse means, “Waiting sucks ass, but when you finally get what you want, it’s all good.”

No, I am NOT going to write The Bible According to Saint (though alternately regarded) Deon.  If you look through those letters you’ll see how that would quickly become the B-a-s-t-a-r-d Bible, and I want no part of that.

I was, and still am, disappointed by the Lottery Commission’s refusal to announce the real winning numbers for the recent $430M prize, which were clearly printed on MY fucking ticket.  This was MY “appointment,” and they “dis”-sed me.  So now some poor schmuck in New Jersey has to explore the many bitterness-inducing facets of sudden wealth.  I was actually prepared to deal with them, but this guy?  He’s totally caught off guard, without a plan.  Watch him for me.  I can’t stand to look, while he stumbles through dealing with the whole thing.  The problems of being able to pay his bills on time.  The problems of being free to not have to work at a dead-end job that sucks ass and doesn’t pay enough to live on.  The problems of figuring out which new car(s) to buy, or which home to live in, or which accessories to have installed on your new bass boat.  I mean, where do you put the extra beer-filled cooler and the snacks, for fuck’s sake?  The thing has to stay afloat!  The problems of having the freedom to hire someone to handle your acreage.  The problem of always being able to hire the guy to fix whatever breaks around the house.  The problem of being able to help people who really need help, helping people who’ve been your friend WHILE your income sucked right out the bill-chute faster than you could earn it.  The problem of figuring out what to do with all that free time. The problem of the continuous muscle aches from all the smiling and laughing.  And, finally, the biggest problem of all, the problem of having to tell all your newest “old friends” to fuck off.  I was ready to deal with ALL of these problems.


So I’ll be ready the next time it tops $200M.  See, I’m even willing and ready to handle a jackpot HALF as big as the last big one.  And, being magnanimous as I am, I’ll even pony up an extra $2 before the payout, so the commission doesn’t look bad for the last mix up.

I’m looking forward to part B.  But I don’t want my bass boat up “a tree of life.”

Have as happy a day as possible.



4 thoughts on “Disappointment- another word dissection

  1. I view bitterness as being the same as when you get a pill stuck in your mouth and it dissolves, thus leaving that gross bitter aftertaste you can’t shake no matter how many ick faces you make. Something brings that about, bitterness seems appropriate rather than wrong.

    If you win the lottery, can the Femmes all get platinum Z=whackers? 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. If I win enough, fuck yeah, but platinum is pretty pricey and might not be effective as other metals. I’m also concerned about weight, vibration issues, and user discomfort. We’ll need a good, ergonomic design. Wood or aluminum are pretty good with minimizing vibration. Or How about silver-plated forged steel z-whackers? We’ll paint them red to cover up the precious metal & gore and reduce the theft risk from the rabble.

      Liked by 1 person

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