Or, Life Will Fuck You, Don’t Let It
The old adage, phrase, wise man’s tale that we hear all the time: “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.”
The phrase that’s been used far and wide: on covers of books, calendars, church pamphlets, tombstones, tattoos, and spewed from the mouth of little old ladies calming down their grandkids. The phrase is used to soften the blow of traumatic experiences in life, and for some it works.
After something traumatic happens to me, I often whisper the phrase and keep on truckin’. Except, I don’t actually make lemonade. Instead, the lemons take hold of me, intrude my thoughts, sting my deviated septum, and fuck my mind in positions its not capable of getting into.
The lemons of life have infiltrated me, and instead of sweating, all that escapes my pores is Minute Maid and all I see any way I turn is lemons.
The phrase hasn’t worked for me, and now, I’m drowning in a sea of yellow. I’ll call it: The Yellow Sea.
I write this today on a makeshift boat; one I made out of Tropicana cartons, I’m exhausted from the waves of pastel and neon yellow that keep rowing my boat back and forth. I’ve had enough of the sweltering acidity in my eyes. I’m tired of living a life where I clock into work at fictional Hot Dog on a Stick.
I want a life free of lemons. Fuck Lemons, but don’t let them fuck you.
Anthony Jauregui, 24