The waste of watching for a miracle

By Rob Granger

Pull the plug.

Don’t be so weak. Look at yourself, you’re pathetic. You sit there for hours on end with that faint glimmer of anticipation in your eyes, hoping that a miracle might happen, that something good will manifest itself.

You’re wasting your time. Pull the plug and walk away.
You’ve been here, day after day, eyes glued to the monitor, listening to its beeps, watching its seductive waves, waiting for the telltale blip that will say to you, "This is what it’s all about. This is what makes life worth living."
You wait in vain. That blip will never come.

It took me 21 years to realize this, but I can call myself a man now. After what I’ve endured, staring at the same monitor, wishing the same sorry condition before me might change, I’ve learned my lesson–a lesson you should learn yourself. No matter what your moral stance is, you have to acknowledge that you’re investing in something that will, in all likelihood, never pay off.

You can’t convince me you enjoy waiting gruellingly for this presumed miracle. You look like hell. Your bloodshot eyes are glazed with icing. You smell like the stale junk food from the dilapidated convenience store down the street. The store smells like you. Your ass is one large callous from sitting for so long. You no longer remember how to walk, nor what the sun looks like. Your neighbours haven’t seen you since that pork roast on your block during the summer. Mind you, you’ve changed so much that they wouldn’t recognize you even if they hadn’t forgotten your face.

Don’t get me started on your brain. You have trouble thinking. You haven’t been stimulated in weeks, but I can’t say I blame you; there’s nothing remotely engaging around here. People around you talk in hushed tones, wagering on what they think will happen, who will survive and outlast all the others to make it to the end. You don’t know whether to act disgusted or interested. I suppose it’s better than that group of foul-mouthed "musicians" that was through here a few minutes ago, yelling and jumping spasmodically. You got rid of them in a hurry, didn’t you? But the damage is still done; now you think art and profanity are a match made in heaven. Finally, there were the news people, as eager to get the real story as they were to endorse their affiliated station and their corporate sponsors. They all prey on you, and you don’t even respect yourself enough to do something about it. It’s just sad.

I know all of this must be difficult for you to accept right now. But some day, you’ll come to the same conclusion as I, and then you’ll thank me.

So do yourself a favour. Pull that plug out of the socket, wipe away the tears, take a deep breath and start living again. Do anything you need to get over your loss. Anything.

But please, for the love of God, don’t waste any more time sitting in front of the boob tube.

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