Fight it! Fly away from it! Fix it! Fuck it!

Fight it! Fly away from it! Fix it! Fuck it!

The 4 magical Fs strike once more in the midst of the autumn of our contempt. And to think that I didn’t even plan for a poetic post tonight, but a raw and archaic one. With angry roars and bitchy lines. To shake it out, shake it out more so that even Florence herself together with her musical Machine. Outside is cold, windy and rainy. Inside is messy, grey and bombing grenades. Big ones.

I like grenades, but not necessarily when they blow up in my face or worst, inside myself. I like to throw them far away in the 7 seas and 7 skies. And then watch the fireworks do their charm. While it does not seem to get better on the other side of the windows, I thought it would be of common decency from my part to put some order in my inner shit. Shovel it a bit so it would stop stinking so bad. Maybe hide it under a beautiful flowery rug so no one knows about it.

Or, who knows, maybe just put it into a different perspective in which I can see a bit of sun in this God forsaken land of fog and gloom. As I was sitting away from myself, right in the opposite corner of my not-so-rectangular room, it just hit me: every time I am faced with a problem I summon almost unconsciously the 4 Fs to come to my rescue: Fight, Flight, Fix, Fuck!

I’ve known FIGHT for nearly all my yet-not-bloomed life. He is very good to me in times of trouble. I got it from my mom, I guess, this Amazon woman spirit entangled with the force of a Celtic lady. Works miracles in all types of crisis situations, and mainly domination rules big time. A sudden rush takes over my whole body and makes me capable of things I had not the slightest idea I could do. After the FIGHT I feel like a Xena the warrior princess: beautiful, strong and conqueror of the world itself.

I still don’t know for sure how I feel about FLIGHT. I know that FLIGHT is supposed to make me feel light(er), but it is so Goddamn difficult to call her. How could I, of all people, resort to flying away from a problem instead of facing it like a man! But wait! I’m NOT a man. I am a WO-MAN! If men fight, then women fly? Is it so simple as an “if… then…” sequence?

Nothing can ever be that simple in my mind, because this big dialogue is happening right in my head, my darling readers… Anyway, after some seconds of pain and despair, I came to the conclusion that FLIGHT can mean also taking some steps back from the problem in order to see it better. Or even postpone its resolution for more cheerful and witty moments. That’s more like it! 😉

After some FIGHT and some FLIGHT, here comes Mr. FIX who thinks he can be the perfect fix for any problem, at any time, in any season or circumstances. He’s a bit silly, because he tends to assume that one solution works for a ton of problems. Your head hurts? Fix it! How? Bump it on the wall for 5′. In the end your new headache will be so new and powerful that it will completely make you forget your old one ;). The voices in your head tell you that you should have listened more to your gut on a certain matter? Fix it! How? Bump your head on the nearest wall you have in sight until your ears start ringing and the voices are muted. Wonderful!

Ohohoho, and if nothing seems to work anymore you can always use a little bit of FACHITOL! It does miracles on your life perspective, expectations, dreams, convictions (past, present & future), plans and representations of how things are supposed to be in this freaking life. The honorable duchess of FUCK does not give neither a fighting nor a flying FUCK on how things will turn out. It is what it is, and so it will be! If you’re happy and you know it, simply don’t give a FUCK just as the song says it (or weren’t those the lyrics?!).

Now my biggest dilemma is: What would happen if I were to ask the 4 Fs to join forces and give me a helping hand right about now, the funk soul brother?

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