Get Your Butt Outside

(Post copyright 2014, Dawn Weber)

The sun shines bright on the sidewalk,

Your bike's in the garage, cast aside,

While you sit, transfixed to an iPod,

Please - get your butt outside.

A pool shimmers blue in the backyard, 

The bank-loan for it made us cry, 

But I'm not sure you know that it's there, son,

Since you won't take your heinie outside.

The grass sure could stand a good cutting,

Though I don't think you'll really comply,

As mowers don't feature PlayStations,

And we don't have a TV outside.

The dog waits in vain by the side door,

A real worried look in her eye,

She knows she can't count on you, boy,

There's no way that you'll take her outside.

A trampoline rusts by the driveway,

It misses your feet, that's no lie,

But COD won't play itself, you know,

Hell no, you ain't going outside.

Things sure were different for me, kid,

Back in nineteen seventy-nine,

"Don't come back in this house till the streetlights come on!"

Had no choice. Put on shoes. Went outside.

Anyway, I was glad to go out there,

Especially in June and July,

No A/C makes houses infernos,

And I much preferred frying outside.

There are woods that you should be exploring,

Mitts that could catch a pop-fly,

But Minecraft is what you're adoring,

And it's hard to see laptops outside.

I sure wish I was there now, son,

I'm at work to pay bills for wifi,

But this weekend I'll change up the password,

You can bet - your ass WILL BE outside. 

Chocolate. And Other Reasons to Live

(post copyright 2014, Dawn Weber)

There I sat, in the grocery store parking lot, feeling confused and very tragic.

I'd just finished my first day of work after a week's vacation at the beach, and I stared straight ahead, watching the heat boil up from the asphalt. What happened to the ocean? I wondered. Where is the rum? What do you mean I have to wear pants all day?

Reality: such a disappointment.

And I knew not this thing they called "Monday." Just minutes ago, it seemed, the time had blended into a pleasant blue haze of laughter and friends, waves and great food and complete relaxation, wherein someone would occasionally ask, "Does anybody know what day it is?" only to receive the same replies: 

"Who knows?"

"Who cares?"

"Pass me another drink!"

Yet, there I was, back in the work-week with all the other dummies, forced to wear pants. It had been a day like so many others before it, and so many that will be after it: ten hours of email, canned soup for lunch, and no rum at all. 

I mean, why go on, really? 

At least I could fix the rum problem. I got out of the car, locked it, and headed through the sliding doors. 

Inside, I continued my depressive internal monologue, muttering like a crackhead all through the produce and frozen goods. I had just grumbled my way past the hamburger buns when I stopped short.

Because just then, I saw it. A post-vacation reason to live. In aisle three:

That's right. Just when you thought your clothes might fit again, holy insulin, Batman, here it is: Chocolate! Melted! In a jar!

It was displayed beside the peanut butter, and the ever-popular Nutella, which I've never tried, because I don't like hazelnut flavor. Also, most of the people I've heard gushing in the media about Nutella appear to be rich, or granola-hippies, or rich granola-hippies - Gwyneth Paltrow types - none of whom I like, all of whom I wish to slap. Upside the head. 

With a big ol' pack of Walmart bacon. 

I sound all stubborn and judgmental and misinformed up there, like a member of Congress, don't I? That is what granola-hippies do to me.

But this Hershey's business was a whole different story. I grabbed the jar off the shelf and gobbled up the label with hungry eyes. It looked like heaven. It looked like trouble. It looked like diabetes and bigger pants and bad decisions. 

I bought it immediately. 

Then, I rushed home so that I could dip into my new love. And let me tell you, friends - the stuff lived up to its promise. It tasted wonderful, the way you'd imagine, the way chocolate should: like fun and childhood and Jesus kisses. You can put it on strawberries, pretzels, fingers - doesn't really matter, because they're all just a vehicle, a utensil, if you will, to get the chocolate in the mouth. 

I know. I sound like someone is paying me to promote their business or do something for them. I sound like a member of Congress again, don't I? 

Sadly, no one is paying me to do anything. (That's what she said!) No, I am just giving you my thoughts on Chocolate! Melted! In a jar! Hey. Everyone's entitled to my valuable opinion. 

So the next time it's your first day back to work after vacation, you're forced to wear pants, and you're feeling sad and confused and like there's no reason to go on, know this:

You're right.

But if you're ever experiencing these emotions, may I recommend heading to the grocery store after work, to pick up some Chocolate! Melted! In a jar!, or your own particular brand of diabetes (even if it's Nutella, you granola-hippie.) Oh, and don't forget the rum.

Because, remember: Depression hurts. Bad decisions can help. 

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Book update: The manuscript is still finished, and I spent the spring writing a 22,000-word book proposal, which is basically a comprehensive business plan for a book, a very left-brained task for a very right-brained person, but I made it through. From here, I will begin querying literary agents. This process can take years, and I won't even tell you how much rejection I'll likely endure, but, hey, that's how it is. I've had a few writer friends read the book, and they gave suggestions, along with some rave reviews, so there's that, right? Send me good wishes, please - and maybe chocolate! Melted! In a jar!