A Sensible Fish

CHIP OF WISDOM:

Proverbs 27, Verse 12

"A sensible man watches for problems ahead and prepares to meet them.  The simpleton never looks, and suffers the consequences."

 

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CHIPPED WISDOM:

 

What if you were a fish.

 

You know, in a tank.

 

(A fish tank.)

 

And there was brightly-hued gravel on the bottom and little fishy shit squiggles were all mixed in there.  And there was faux seaweed made in China and a little treasure chest, too.  And the little scuba man with the fucking Hannibal thing on his head. 

 

And you're the fish.

 

But, see, you're not just "the fish".  No, that would be too easy.  And you don't get off that easy, pard'ner.  Nah, sorry.  No, you're the fish, alright, but you're also a certain kind of fish.

 

You're a Nervous.  Fish. 

 

Nervousfish.

 

Pescadorus Nerviensus. 

 

You're one fucked fish. 

 

Now, as a Nervous Fish, you have certain... responsibilities.  Certain... obligations.

 

You have things to do, and you have to do them in a very certain way.

 

Or, rather, you have things to do, and you have to NOT do them in a very certain way.

 

Because, you know, you're a Nervous Fish, and a Nervous Fish can't just go around doing the things it has to do because it's, um, nervous.

 

TREASURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Yeah.  There's TREASURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! down there, but there's a little problem.  You're just a wee bit nervous about doing anything other than holding perfectly, serenely still in the water. 

 

Christ-like. 

 

Except he'd be on top of the water.  Wait a minute-- wasn't Jesus a fish?  And he went with a loaf of bread?  And a Bearnaise sauce?  

 

I really wanted to go to Catholic school when I was a kid, because they wore neckties.  I loved ties, even as a six year old.  I knew enough to know I couldn't get away with wearing one in public school, even an effete public school, I had enough restraint to stop myself from doing that.

 

You know, because, even at age 6, I was a pretty nervous fish.

 

What will they say about me?

 

Who will be my friend?

 

Will somebody choke me out with my tie in the bathroom?

 

Okay, maybe I didn't think that last one when I was six.  Anyway, I didn't go to the bathroom in school until I was in 12th grade. 

 

*****  SO IT WASN'T EVEN AN ISSUE  *****

 

I hate fish, not because they're boring and because they don't make sounds and because they look at you all fucked up-- I hate them because they're so free.  I mean, yeah, they're in a bowl or a tank and they're actually terribly restricted, but they don't know that.  They're too stupid, with their stupid fishy brains the size of a tick fart.  Watching a fish slide and glide through the water, that's an incredibly irritating experience for a Nervous Fish to watch. 

 

See, because there are no nervous fish.  You never see a fish hesitate.  A fish never goes "Hmm, God, I don't know, should I shoot myself effortlessly across this glistening scenery of plastic flora until I am satisfied with the distance I have achieved or shouldn't I?  Shit, um, well, let me make a pro and con list and a Ven diagram and a Zone of Proximal Development and a clothing chart and a call to my clergy and let me sleep on it and oh wait I don't sleep and let me toss it around a bit and let me run it by a few dozen people a consortium a focus group a parent teacher conference a minyan let me stroke the rabbi's beard and rub Buddah's belly and Band-Aid Christ's stigmata and let me pop a pill and canvass the neighborhood and profile suspects and step out of the car sir and wait no wait oh yes no wait should I no wait no no no no no no."

 

You never see a fish doing that. 

 

They just fucking go.

 

And I hate them. 

 

I can't just go.

 

Let it go.

 

Go.

 

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*No fish, Nervous or otherwise, were harmed in the making of this blog. 

 

**I'm lying, but that's okay.  You must be used to it by now.