Holier than thou 

I want to begin by saying thank you for having me, I’m really excited for this opportunity, add me on LinkedIn, those aren’t mine officers, no I haven’t seen that show, and hi mom.

With that comfortably out of the way, we can get started. The first, and arguably only, thing you need to know about what’s happened since the last time we spoke is this: the gods tried yet again to strike me down and failed spectacularly. I trust they’ve learned their lesson and will leave me alone for the near future, but the battle was well fought. 

Because of this ecclesiastical blunder, I realized there is only one constant in my life, can you guess what it is? Is it love? Sunshine? Human suffering? According to the turtle Benny boy, it could be death or taxes. Maybe it’s how your pocket always catches on the doorknob when you’re in a bad mood or the humiliating prospect of being the first to turn something in. While all these are valid and universal experiences (except for cave bats, who I’m pretty sure have never experienced sunshine, unless they’re that female migratory species), what I’m talking about is even greater than the controlling heavens themselves. 

Yes dear reader, this is an article about holes. 

In my parents’ backyard there’s a little white shed. It’s nearly 20 years old, rusty, about three feet in front of the fence, and for a brief moment in time, housed a 10 foot long rat snake under the floorboards. The snake is inconsequential even though the shed is not. As a child, I would steal the garden trowel and scurry behind the shed, out of my mother’s view. The grass didn’t grow well back there, so the ground was beautifully exposed. And I would dig. 

I’m not sure if I started digging because I thought I could reach China like my classmates had told me or if I liked the smell of earth, but either way, the backyard hole started to grow and I was proud. Then one day, I went out there to discover the hole had been filled in – a complete and utter betrayal by my own family. Clearly my dad had found my pride and joy and patched the yard up, but I was never the same and neither of us ever mentioned it. I still think about that hole. 

Of course there were other notable holes throughout my life: the hole in my favorite blanket that caused my mom to give it away, the hole in the movie theater seat I got my pinky stuck in during Peter Pan 2: Return to Never Land, and the hole in my mouth I’m playing with as I type this. Holes are beautiful and all around us. 

On a larger scale outside of myself, holes are all encompassing and inescapable. There’s a universe theory that argues space is closed in on itself creating a three dimensional donut shape. A shape famously featuring a hole. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that the premise of the Oscar Winner for Best Picture film Everything Everywhere All at Once? And what in this universe is bigger than Hollywood?

I’m excited to say I work in a place with a famous magic hole, although I won’t give you any more details, not even if you ask politely. In fact, the majority of my past jobs all had a hole with a story. No matter how terrifying the holes were, I wanted nothing more than to crawl inside and find comfort in the crevasse. While I abstained in these professional settings, I’ve enjoyed my time spelunking in caves across the country. Caves are nothing more than nature’s holes, a welcome respite to the everythingness of all the rest. 

Now, the gods and I aren’t on speaking terms because they tried to take away a hole. One of three extremely important holes I won’t describe in any detail. It did not go unnoticed, and it was not appreciated. Some things aren’t meant to be filled up, sometimes, holes keep us alive. So until the gods give me a reason to believe in them once more, I will continue to naysay against the unjust pantheon. I am the uncanny vision of Shelley’s Modern Prometheus.   

From ear piercings to heartache (ba dum tss) to other bodily orifices, holes are too often overlooked for their importance to our existence. Except by the gods apparently. Like the salad in Willy Wonka, holes are a very real and integral part of my being. They’re fun to laugh at in the moment, but only because you thought that as a chocolatier, I only ate sweets. 

Read more in the Newsletter.

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