“Which is more important? The world that is made up of facts, or the WORLD AS YOU SEE IT?”

On an afternoon in August, I was mowing the lawn when I ran out of gas.  Whew.  As if perspiration wasn’t already blinding me.  I located the full gas can and returned to the mower in the middle of the back yard.  I opened the gasoline hatch and rotated the handle off the can. 

Great. The gas can had an opening about four inches in diameter and flat on the top of the vessel and the hatch in the mower was less than an inch across.  How was I supposed to do this?  The heat was killing me.  My EMOTIONAL GUIDANCE SYSTEM was launching me into idiot ramblings such as, ”Why am I the one out here in this heat?  I do everything around here! I’m not even supposed to be out in the heat. Who left the mower half empty anyway? My whole life has been just like this.  Me getting stuck with all the hideous jobs.”  And . . . for leading role in Playing Victim, the nominees are . . .

Okay. So fine.  I could make this work.  (Motto as a child:  If at first you don’t succeed, force it.)

I’m not helpless, right?  I go into the house and search for a funnel for twenty minutes. Right. We didn’t have a hammer.  What made me think I could find something as specific as a funnel? “Why am I the one always stuck without the right tools?  I could use the urn from the coffee machine . . . no, that sounds risky as far as future coffee.  I collect several manilla folders from my home office and head out, patting myself on my sweaty back because I am such a genius. 

Back at the mower, I make a funnel out of one folder and pour.  It collapses.  Fine. My hands are shaking like crazy.  I’m blind. A bit dizzy. Yet, clever girl that I am, I persevere.  I made a tiered, graduated funnel using six manilla folders.  And it works!  I stand over the mower wondering exactly what the chances are that a breeze could set the mower, gasoline folders, and me up in a mushroom of flames.  Particularly since I can’t control my body movements my knees being shot and all.  My mood?  Victim has racheted up to snivelling and just wait until . . .

I turn to return the cap to the gasoline can.  Which is when I notice that the “cap” for the tank, which I had unscrewed and set aside, is actually an excellent, pliable funnel.

This is my world, and welcome to it.

Tomorrow: How Much Does Your PERCEPTION determine your life?