Originally published by The Clifton Courier, October 14, 2020

Look, this is going to sound very pessimistic, but sometimes the routines of daily life can be quite astoundingly pointless. 

I’m generally a bit of a pessimist even though the course of my life hasn’t given me much cause to be. But even though I can be a Negative Nancy, that doesn’t mean I’m not cheery. Or chirpy. In fact, sometimes I get the impression from the visible wincing of those within a shouting radius of me that sometimes I might be just a tiny bit too chirpy at times. What I’m trying to say is, don’t read too much into that opening line. I get a great deal of joy from sunsets and giggling babies and daises and kookaburras and all that jazz.

But sometimes, I notice a Sisyphus-like pattern in my life. 

Sisyphus was a king who, based on my very basic research on Google, I think was carrying on like a bit of douchebag. As punishment for his douchey ways, he was forced by Zeus to roll an “immense” boulder up a hill which, crushingly, would roll back down again when it neared the top. And then he’d have to push it up again. And on and on and on it would go forever and ever. Eternal toil and futility. And, according to one source, this hill was located in Hades. I know from Bring It On that Hades is not a place you want to end up (and you could end up there if you committed the mortal sin of dropping the Spirit Stick*, which you should never, ever do). So I imagine it wasn’t one of those places where you could take in the scenery or enjoy the fresh air while labouring without purpose. I imagine it would have been pretty unpleasant. 

* Look, I tried to find a video clip of the Spirit Stick scene to link out to, but it appears the movie is too old to have been on YouTube. Concerning, I know.

I feel like that fellow when I look in my fridge or pantry – however, I think it must be said that my housemates and I have created a living environment that is at the very least better than a joyless dungeon for souls.

Because I’m looking at my food storage areas and either thinking “geez, I need to clear some bloody space in here” or “gosh, I better get more stuff to put in here”. Like, I stock up on more food only to feel as though I need to get rid of it. And I only get rid of stuff so I can put more stuff in its place.

My immense boulder comes in the form of a jar of oil that goats cheese was soaking in. Or a lump of pumpkin. Or half a bag of Brussles sprouts. Or a jar of horseradish cream I bought to spice up a Rueben sandwich I had a real hankering for on day, only to realise that it was awful (I’d put far too much on the sanga and it felt as though horseradish cream gas was leaking out my nose and eyes… I would not recommend replicating this sensation).

I see those things in the fridge every day, taking up precious space. 

I want to clear that space so badly. I want to reclaim it. But then, I think to myself, what would I do if I saw my shelf in the fridge bare? Would it be comforting? Or would the sight of a wide-open shelf compel me to fill it?

The answer is obviously yes. 

So where does it end?

I mean, I’m reaching for a perfect level of refrigerator fullness, but the nature of man means that can never be a permanent state. It isn’t an attainable end goal. Because the circle of life forbids it. My human body will inevitably get hungry and consume some of the food inside, thus depleting the stock. And even if my mortal flesh doesn’t cry out of sustenance (or, in the much more likely event, I sustain myself with impulse takeaway buys which I reheat for days and days on end) the food will eventually rot and start leaching mystery juices that need to be cleared away. 

Refrigerator perfection is a fleeting moment in time you can experience but not hold on to, like a sunset or a baby’s giggle or a blooming daisy or the laugh of a kookaburra.

Just like sunsets settle into nighttime, babies grow up into sullen teenagers, daisies wilt and kookaburras bugger off into the open sky, the perfect level of refrigerator fullness doesn’t last forever.

And, yet, I keep striving for those brief moments of perfect balance. 

I suppose that’s what life is all about: savouring the good things while you can, wherever you can find them. Knowing those good things don’t last forever makes them even more precious, I suppose.  

And if you’d like to savour the delights of a barely-used jar of horseradish cream, you know exactly where to find one.