I really don't know how you feel but sometimes I get really tired of all the negativity!
Now don't get me wrong, I am not suggesting for a minute that things are exquisitely rosy in the garden, because we all know they are not, I am talking about how we as human beings get sucked into and consumed by the orgy of negativity that's out there, coming at us in waves day after day.
I am talking about negativity on a personal level as in the 'I feel fat and that I have no future' type negativity, then there's the work type negativity 'This company is going to the dogs', of course we also have your taxi cab type negativity 'them bleeding bankers should be shot' and also that nugget of a taxi driver comment 'this crowd are as bad as the last shower of gobshites' referring of course to our esteemed public representatives. You then have the national and European negativity 'this country is banjaxed and we are all doomed' and then the extreme global negativity 'there is going to be outright anarchy all across the planet and come the revolution, the rich and the bankers will be the first to get it!'.
I want to admit openly that I have been a willing diner at the table of negativity many times over the past couple of years and I have indulged, on more than one occasion, in a jolly good spate of bitching, moaning and general nay saying about everything from the price of milk to the fact that I have to turn our home heating on in June.
Indeed one time last year I indulged in a lengthy discussion with a homeless person about the current quality of the cardboard he was using to sleep on in a doorway in Grafton Street. He had asked me for some change and when I sheepishly reached into my pocket to pull out a Euro coin, two 10 cent pieces and a used piece of dental floss, he reacted with an unnerving level of glee which only served to heighten my embarrassment and unease at this man's plight and my innate desire to quickly move on down the street and leave him behind me.
But that was never going to happen, indeed he felt obligated to initiate a conversation with me which would somehow work off the €1.20 I had given him, there was an awkward moment after I shoved the paltry sum into his hand when I wanted to quickly walk away while avoiding his eyes but he acted admirably to retain my company 'they just don't make cardboard like they used to?' he blurted out, I was stuck in a moment of hesitation, my choices were stark, I couldn't ignore him, that would be downright rude, besides he and I had carried out a transaction, money had changed hands, we were connected on some level, I was a tramp customer and he was going to give me some value for money.
And so we stood there in the middle of the pedestrian thoroughfare (great word eh?) and chatted about the current state of the cardboard and paper market, as is usually the case in these situations I had read my vagrant friend completely wrong, his fascination with the quality of cardboard boxes was not borne of of his pressing need to have a good slab of board for that doorway he would be sleeping in tonight, no indeed I had been very wide of the mark, my trampish colleague began to tell me about his career as an executive of a major cardboard manufacturing company, managing eighty people at one time, drove an S-Class Merc and played tennis at the local golf club. Sadly his demise was swift, savage and rapid, he explained to me that his wife had been banging the tanned and muscular Brad, Brad being the Golf pro at said club. Mrs Tramp (well what else can I call her?) eventually left Mr Tramp and proceeded to take him to the cleaners, she left him with her fiat punto and a few months rent in the local Bed & Breakfast. Alas his spiral into outright trampdom was visceral and savage, friends unfriended him, business contacts turned their backs and he eventually arrived at the port of Tramptown and reluctantly settled as one of it's newest residents.
So as I walked away from the encounter I most definitely felt more than a pang of guilt at moaning about the amount of jelly babies in a pack or the fact that our dog Charlie had pee'd on our dining room curtains again, this has been a life lesson for me, a pointed reminder that however bad things are there is always a tramp knocking around who has been shafted by his botoxed wife and her well endowed golf coach. My advice? When you are feeling that wave of negativity beginning to wash over you, go find a tramp, ask him how his day is going and just kick back and enjoy the ride. And by the way think before you throw out that cardboard box from the new fridge, maybe save it for a rainy day?
Now don't get me wrong, I am not suggesting for a minute that things are exquisitely rosy in the garden, because we all know they are not, I am talking about how we as human beings get sucked into and consumed by the orgy of negativity that's out there, coming at us in waves day after day.
I am talking about negativity on a personal level as in the 'I feel fat and that I have no future' type negativity, then there's the work type negativity 'This company is going to the dogs', of course we also have your taxi cab type negativity 'them bleeding bankers should be shot' and also that nugget of a taxi driver comment 'this crowd are as bad as the last shower of gobshites' referring of course to our esteemed public representatives. You then have the national and European negativity 'this country is banjaxed and we are all doomed' and then the extreme global negativity 'there is going to be outright anarchy all across the planet and come the revolution, the rich and the bankers will be the first to get it!'.I want to admit openly that I have been a willing diner at the table of negativity many times over the past couple of years and I have indulged, on more than one occasion, in a jolly good spate of bitching, moaning and general nay saying about everything from the price of milk to the fact that I have to turn our home heating on in June.
Indeed one time last year I indulged in a lengthy discussion with a homeless person about the current quality of the cardboard he was using to sleep on in a doorway in Grafton Street. He had asked me for some change and when I sheepishly reached into my pocket to pull out a Euro coin, two 10 cent pieces and a used piece of dental floss, he reacted with an unnerving level of glee which only served to heighten my embarrassment and unease at this man's plight and my innate desire to quickly move on down the street and leave him behind me.
But that was never going to happen, indeed he felt obligated to initiate a conversation with me which would somehow work off the €1.20 I had given him, there was an awkward moment after I shoved the paltry sum into his hand when I wanted to quickly walk away while avoiding his eyes but he acted admirably to retain my company 'they just don't make cardboard like they used to?' he blurted out, I was stuck in a moment of hesitation, my choices were stark, I couldn't ignore him, that would be downright rude, besides he and I had carried out a transaction, money had changed hands, we were connected on some level, I was a tramp customer and he was going to give me some value for money.
And so we stood there in the middle of the pedestrian thoroughfare (great word eh?) and chatted about the current state of the cardboard and paper market, as is usually the case in these situations I had read my vagrant friend completely wrong, his fascination with the quality of cardboard boxes was not borne of of his pressing need to have a good slab of board for that doorway he would be sleeping in tonight, no indeed I had been very wide of the mark, my trampish colleague began to tell me about his career as an executive of a major cardboard manufacturing company, managing eighty people at one time, drove an S-Class Merc and played tennis at the local golf club. Sadly his demise was swift, savage and rapid, he explained to me that his wife had been banging the tanned and muscular Brad, Brad being the Golf pro at said club. Mrs Tramp (well what else can I call her?) eventually left Mr Tramp and proceeded to take him to the cleaners, she left him with her fiat punto and a few months rent in the local Bed & Breakfast. Alas his spiral into outright trampdom was visceral and savage, friends unfriended him, business contacts turned their backs and he eventually arrived at the port of Tramptown and reluctantly settled as one of it's newest residents.
So as I walked away from the encounter I most definitely felt more than a pang of guilt at moaning about the amount of jelly babies in a pack or the fact that our dog Charlie had pee'd on our dining room curtains again, this has been a life lesson for me, a pointed reminder that however bad things are there is always a tramp knocking around who has been shafted by his botoxed wife and her well endowed golf coach. My advice? When you are feeling that wave of negativity beginning to wash over you, go find a tramp, ask him how his day is going and just kick back and enjoy the ride. And by the way think before you throw out that cardboard box from the new fridge, maybe save it for a rainy day?
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