Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The Piñata of Fury

A lot of Sundays ago I became enraged with my belongings as I was packing them up and moving them out of our condo in Tempe and away to the nether regions of Gilbert, Arizona, where they now live in boxes in my parents garage. They come to life at night and have adventures there, but that is a blog for a different time. What started out as creeping uncomfortableness with realizing that I own too many things escalated throughout the week into blind fury at the things that I own for merely existing, and by association, every other thing in the world.

I was stomping around childishly, trying make everything that I didn't want to pack burst into flames with my eyes, when I tripped over a piñata that had been banished to our garage for mocking me, and the last tethers that I had on my temper crumbled into dust. You have laughed your last laugh, piñata. (Shaky voice) Your last laugh. Though I knew at the time that I was experiencing irrational portions of annoyance at inanimate things, on a measure of "I know it's silly to be angry at a piñata," to "I know I'm bleeding from the ears with rage, but that piñata crossed a line!" I was at the level of "honey, bring the children inside, I think our neighbor is having an episode," but I didn't care, so outrageously irritated was I. The piñatas of my life had pushed me too far. Why did we have six spatulas? WHERE DID THEY COME FROM??

Calm down, my inside dignity mechanism advised, but I didn't hear it because of the exploding sound the piñata made when he landed in the street where I'd thrown him, his stupid blue feathers streaming pathetically behind. I would set fire to them later. I left the criminal in the road because traffic is perilous.

One millennium later when the rest of the condo's contents had been sent away, when its windows had been cleaned and its keys returned to our land-lady who was serenely unaware that I had come unhinged, I said goodbye to my house and walked out into the street to apologize to the remaining pieces of my piñata friend. We were about to part ways forever; I could swallow my pride and wish him well with the rest of his endeavors. Because that's how grownups behave.

I can't remember what happened to my apology but it must have been drowned out by the still mocking sonofabitch as he tore in half mid-air, having been drop kicked toward the communal dumpster down the street from our driveway. His rear end was caught by the wind and carried away into the Tempe afternoon (way to go, Captain Sustainability). The Piñata's head landed neatly on top the over-flowing dumpster in an explosion of leaves and garbage, sunshine reflected merrily off of the filth we had unsettled. It was glorious.

I have calmed down since then and realized that the only way forward is to sell everything I own and go live in a magical bus in the Alaskan wilderness. Not really.