So I was really anger the other day, Company. I was really angry about something; something in particular. And I mean really angry - super angry. I had my feathers all in an uproar and was set to get up on my soapbox and pontificate about some subject that had me all upset. But at the time, I didn't do anything about it. I thought to myself "Self, you can write about it in a day or two. You will still be angry in a day or two." And I would assume that I am still angry about that particular subject. I just wish that I could remember what it was.
Yeah, that's right. Brain fart. Senior moment. I guess that I don't care what you call it but I had one. I don't remember what I was angry about. I don't remember what had me all in an uproar for like two days. I seem to think that vaguely it had to do with cheerleaders and their uniforms, but I am not sure that it is. See, I read an article about some cheerleaders in Connecticut who stormed into a Bridgeport School Board meeting and demanded that they have less revealing uniforms. Now that's cool. Then the article went on to say that a study among college cheerleaders showed that the more revealing the uniform they have to wear the higher the incidences of eating disorders among the squad. I can't say that I am surprised. But anyway, that is for another time, and that is not the point. The point is that I read the article, so as I type that might be what I am thinking about, and there might not really be a connection. So even the little bit of memory that I have might not even be for real.
So what am I to do? I briefly considered pretending to be outraged about the cheerleading thing but I am not because I actually think what those girls did was cool, and I liked the response by the school board and district. So no outrage there, and it just isn't the same when it is faked, you know? I was sort of hoping that I would see whatever it was that triggered my outrage in the first place and it would, you know, trigger it some more. But nope, no such luck. So what's a boy to do?
Hence the post about the lost post. Sort of like Garrison Keillor did when he wrote about his greatest story that he lost in a bus depot bathroom in Portland, Oregon. And I know that I have written on this same subject before - probably more than once - but I am not going to go back and surf through the pages and pages of posts to find it. You probably aren't interested anyway. So I am just giving it to you again, in a new and different wrapper. And I am also offering a big fat apology, for this pile of crap. And I am sorry for my lost outrage, now suppressed somewhere in some shallow well under my surface, probably never to resurface. And since I forget about it, even if it does return I won't know that I ever had it before. And then it will be totally new. To you and me. And won't that be neat?