I’m about to lose my shit in a manner that is directly proportional to the sum of the diameter of the outer rings of Saturn. Exponentially magnified to account for the Ya-Ya’s.
Some people often quirk that “If I had a dollar for every time [enter situation here] happens/ed, I’d be rich.”
Dude. I wish Ya-Ya’s were dollars.
Put another way, if Ya-Ya’s were the proportionate equivalent of muscle mass, I could bench press a Buick.
With one hand.
“What on this spinning blue and green orb hurtling through time and space are Ya-Ya’s?” you ask.
Me: I was wondering if you would/Could you please/Do you mind if/etc.
I could probably also spell it “Yeah….yeah…” but Ya-Ya’s sound much more interesting and, frankly, keep me writing and thus prevent me from losing my proverbial shit.
Ya-Ya’s are the responses by the masses from whom I implore assistance.
Here’s the thing. I am desperate for relief from the chaos of my reality. The pain is riDONKulous, the sleep elusive, and thus I ask…I receive a “Ya-Ya”…and my made-for-tv-movie continues.
Except…the thing that the Ya-Ya is like some kind quantum particle or something, ‘cuz I sure as shit don’t see it change/done/modify/etc.
OH!! Maybe a Ya-Ya is like a unicorn…a mysterious creature that only other creatures that sure as shit aren’t “Me.” can see.
See, it helps me to think that my Ya-Ya’s aren’t alone. My difficulty lies in trying to find out which Ya-Ya’s are in the town, and which Ya-Ya’s have made their go-’round in the Large Hadron Collider.
*ponders if Ya-Ya’s burst glitter when smashed together at a ridiculously high velocity*
So, I gave the Ya-Ya’s a town. There are oodles of Ya-Ya’s in the town, some are my Ya-Ya’s, some are other people’s Ya-Ya’s. They gather and do whateverthehell it is that Ya-Ya’s do. But, they seem to by multiplying like rabbits. So, now I’m left with unicorn/rabbit hybrid Ya-Ya’s that don’t fit in with the societal standards of Ya-Ya Town and thus reside on the outskirts effectively creating their own tent city of Ya-Ra-Ya-Bits and we all know how the world feels about those.
*ponders Ya-Ra-Ya-Bits glamping*
What does one do, then, when one’s esteem starts to become tied to the inefficiencies of the world around them? What if one starts believing that they are no longer of worth or value to bring a Ya-Ya to fruition?
One continues to study astronomy and the cosmos (the good one). One cusses like a sailor trying to cut out eleventy-billion pattern pieces for the soon-to-be epically crafted messenger bag. One stops putting out more than one gets. One manages to observe #gladitude. One puts on fuzzy socks and lights a fire and sips a mocha-choco-vodka-valium latte whilst watching documentaries about the “Everything.” that makes me the “Me.” that I am.
Simply put: I really am striving to manage only what is in my power to manage.
For everything else, there’s glitter.
Non-Ya-Ya smashed glitter.