But I find I'm not really upset about any of it.
Because, it doesn't feel all that bad.
In fact, it feels a very much like mulch.
Recently, I was walking in the park with Fred and as we rounded a bend in the path, I saw what looked to be a free-standing doorway at the top of a hill. Now, we walk through this park everyday, sometimes twice and there had never been a doorway before. This one had seemingly appeared there overnight.
I don't have to tell you, I was a little more than excited. As we approached the doorway, I could see that it was more of a portal really, wide and futuristic in design, but rusted out as if it had spent time in the elements, a lot of time in the elements. This doorway had traveled through time and now it was here for me!
I had to try it. But as excited as I was at the prospect of finally escaping my fluorescent-lit cubicled existence for always and forever, Fred was freaked out. This, I took as a really good sign since animals KNOW things, can smell and see things on other planes. It's a fact. But I wouldn't be deterred. Danger be damned, I scooped his squirming little body up in my arms, took a deep breath and stepped inside. And then I waited, taking a moment to notice our shadow, framed by that of the portal stretching twenty feet along the ground in front of us, and then I stepped through to the other side.
I looked around.
I looked down at myself.
I took another deep breath.
Fred, relieved, ran back to sniff the portal and then peed on it.
I, as you might expect, was vaguely disappointed. I didn't really expect anything to happen, but still. . . .
It turns out that the doorway is no more than an art installation, one of several in a summer exhibit the park is hosting. Around another bend is a big, metal Escher-esque sculpture painted yellow and near it, a ditch someone dug that's called "Heal."
*Always wear your underwear.