Seattle, Washington
Written in late May, 2008

GOO

I do not usually endorse consumer products, but this one is a winner.
GOO GONE.
I don’t know what’s in it - the label doesn’t say.
Though it does advise not to drink it, give it to children, use near fire, or rub on your body.
But I know what it does.
It removes basic irritation.
The kind that comes from trying to get goo off.

By goo I mean the residue of price stickers, crayon marks, candle wax, scuff marks on walls, tree sap, glue, tape, lipstick stains, grease, shoe polish, wet paint, rust, mildew, and even what’s left behind when you squash a bug on a dress shirt. Just about anything that makes you say, “I can’t get this damned goo off.” And it’s ruined your day. And you know it’s a trivial matter and that makes your irritation even worse because it’s petty.

Goo Gone is a happy ending in a bottle.
More than once it has saved the day.

How I wish I could get something like this for my existential needs - for the times when my spirit gets stained with the small marks of the cruddy goo of daily life.

There’s no product to deal with the big troubles, but it’s the little ones that drive me crazy, and send me to bed in a sour mood. And I hate me for that. “Put it down, lighten up,” I mutter. “Give it up - it’s not important.”

Perhaps this is how memory serves me - knowing I’ve been gooed-up before and life has gone on. Perhaps laughter at my own small-minded-ness is a kind of goo-gone. Knowing that this, too, will pass, and the goo will go.