René Roberts

Some weeks are simply more grueling than others. What can you do? You put your head down and whisper your mantra repeatedly : This too shall pass.

To start off with, this is my PMS week. I’m bloated (on top of simply being fat), I’m on that emotional roller coaster where even the infomercials makes me want to cry, my boobs are hypersensitive and feel like watermelons and I crave chocolate. Having said that, this week was bound to be a killer.

However, I don’t have control over my PMS. My girlfriend disagrees. Strongly. Let her start her own blog if she wants to get that out of her system I say. Since I do have this blog thing going on, I’ll ramble about other things I don’t have control over.

I have the sweetest of love affairs with words. It truly was love at first read. Words are a little like a paintbrush. What you do with them is entirely up to you. You can paint the Mona Lisa or you can lash out in anger. Words are weapons we use to either conquer or destroy.

The spoken word is like a Boomerang. You chuck it up in the air. You get if off your chest. It’s up and away and you feel relieved. Most of us turn around and walk away from it. What’s done is done. What we don’t always realize is that it will always come back to us. That snide comment you uttered when your guard was down, will hit you in the ass. Count on it.

The heated discussion you allow yourself to get into with that loved one is a Boomerang, buddy. Your words will haunt you. Count on it. Words can be a little like being stuck in a loveless relationship : the bitch grows old with you. The spoken word lives as long as it’s remembered. That can be a very long time. Why? Because what you say is remembered by whoever hears it. And yourself. And we both know that you’ll be stuck with you forever.

My mother is a wise woman. She has all the answers wrapped up in a hug. She told me from a very young age that my mouth will be the death of me. We all know I have a mouth on me. I’ve cut down giants with the sword of my tongue. Yup, I have a backpack full of Boomerangs, my friend. It’s a burden we carry around with us for a lifetime.

People have accomplished such great feats in this life. We’ve traveled to the moon. We’ve defeated so much. We’ve evolved from beings that hunt for their food and drag their wives by the hair into the cave at night to sophisticated, responsible human beings. Some of us still drag the wife by the hair. But there’s time. We’ve obliterated certain diseases and we took giant leaps where technological progress is concerned. We’ve survived Hitler, Stalin and Bin Laden. There’s still Mugabe, but we’re getting there. One tumble at a time. We rule the world. We’ve conquered.

Right?

What is the one thing that no single human being can conquer?

Complete control over the tongue.

It’s a raging beast and it’s invincible.

Should we back down? Throw in the towel and wave the white flag in surrender? I think not.

I think we should take up our armor, reload and soldier on. We should put every single word to good use. We should be prepared to stumble at times. See how I cleverly referenced Mugabe for a second time? See how I’ve totally messed it up by pointing it out like you can’t think for yourself?

Take up your sword and fight for the honor of the spoken word.

It can mend fences. It can bring hope in dire situations. It can be the kind of Boomerang you proudly grab hold of upon its return.

Or you can carry on being a dick and it hits you in the back of the head.

It’s your choice.