Friday, October 1, 2010

Walking on Eggs

In a world of catch phrases, cliche, or just plain-old infinite wisdom of the generations that precede us; I find myself living (and slowly dying) in that infamous adage-- 'walking on eggs'.

Who the heck made up that one anyway?
You cannot walk on eggs...not even the hard-boiled ones. You'd roll right off them suckers and break your neck.

Yet this is where I've found my feet-- as of late.
I walked on those eggs until the shells slashed them wide open.. gushing enough emotional blood to render me incapable of walking altogether.

So here I sit; feet off the floor, in my guilt-padded / shell-armored, wheelchair.
I'm going to try to roll over these deceptively-fragile eggs more bloody feet for me.

Ahhh, but I forget about those flowing salty tears, that rust up the bearings on my wheels.

Now I am stuck; frozen in a chair with a plethora of razor-like remains under my rusted shell-crusher.
I dare not get up; the wounds have not healed and I will bleed once more.
Maybe this is my fate. I could not have asked for a more pitiful demise.

Dying at the hands of what a chicken popped out of its ass.


  1. :D This one made me chuckle, then laugh out loud, yet the middle is so sad/bitter/melancholy. A roller coaster of emotions. Nice.

  2. Thanks Court,
    This one came from a real conversation about people "walking on eggs"...wrote it immediately after that. :)

    The last line was to illustrate how foolish it all is, to go through that "roller coaster"

    Pain-- self inflicted.
    Much like the fool that paints themselves into a corner...instead of out the door. :)

  3. I enjoyed this as well. It reminds me of the time that it was even possible for me to walk on eggshells.

    I don't think that happens any more, at least not very often or for very long. All it took was finding my secret joy.

    Just like you Lisa, I discovered that walking on eggshells had the net effect of painting myself into a corner.

    Oh, my what to do!?!? LOL!!

    Then I figured out that walking right back through my own brush strokes, somewhat like a kid stomping through a mud puddle, was all I needed to do.

    One, it screwed up all that painting and rendered it useless. And two, whoever gladly watched me paint myself into that corner wasn't so keen on doing it again.

    Actually, there is a third lesson. I figured out that I needed to take that brush and slap myself with it a few times till I woke up and realized that eggs are great on a plate with OJ and some dead pig flesh, but they are plain stupid for a floor covering.

    I walk on eggshells for no one, and no one that values me in the least wants me to.

  4. Hey there, Paul!
    Nicely done, and I think I will let this stand as is. I can't add a thing to it.

    'cept I prefer some fruit instead of the pig flesh, these days.


    Thanks, :)