Rejoice dammit!

Rejoice dammit!

 

I was watching this awful television program the other day. The one where rich people exploit poor people in crisis in order to get even more rich.

Yeah that one.

The one where they take a parent or two (although it’s much better for ratings if one of them is deceased – cause of death preferably due to an act of heroism or a long and grueling battle with a popular cancer) who have nothing left to keep them from throwing themselves off a bridge, except for a brood of children. Preferably children who are genetically modified and/or mentally and/or physically challenged.

The producer strips the family of whatever is left of its pride and dignity by divulging their most shameful darkness, their bank statements, and the rodent infested, water/fire damaged wreckage that they have been living in ever since

*insert tragedy (ie: the other parent’s fatal diagnoses, flood, hurricane, act of terrorism) here*

Hopefully the house is so disgusting that if it weren’t for eXtreme Makeover House Edition, the parent would surely have had the children confiscated by youth protection.

Then the reality TV show crew, with the help of everyone in the neighbourhood that is jumping at the chance of their 15 minutes of fame, and a handful of awesome people who genuinely want to help, demolish the family home and replace it with a grotesque palatial eyesore that comes equipped with a homework lab, a fashion show runway, a bowling alley, and a professional dance studio, for the poor single mother, who works 7  16 hour days a week to support her family, to clean and heat – which will undoubtedly make all the neighbours hate them because not only is it showy and hideously out of place, but has raised everyone’s property taxes within a 6 mile radius.

The episode that I watched had way too much screaming and fainting in it for my taste, but I’m white and English, with (while deeply passionate on the inside) the public demeanour of a Stepford wife, so what do I know?

At the end of the episode (yes, I admittedly watched the entire show) the big loud hysterical weeping wailing mama says something along the lines of

“Rejoice, rejoice. Blessed be. Rejoice”

Now I’m not a deeply religious woman but I have to say, whether it was genuine or not, I was moved by her words. I needed to hear them.

I have not been rejoicing.

We are supposed to rejoice. We are supposed to live. Like actually live.

What does that have to do with reality TV? Absolutely nothing.

I just needed a long-winded segue to the rejoice bit.

We are not supposed to “live” life working to survive, worrying and what-iffing our way through the day, running home to turn on the TV so we can turn off our brains, or counting how many more hours till bedtime so we can sleep through the next 6 hours.

We are not supposed to be over-analyzing our relationships until we are heartwrecked and nauseous, paranoid and agoraphobic.

We are not supposed to unfriend people because they have updated their status to “In a relationship” and avoid them like the plague until they are as lonely and hopeless as we are.

We are not supposed to be so scared and turned off of intimacy that we break out into hives every time we hear the Century 21 theme. Unless it’s just a general aversion to Hollywood movies, which I totally get.

We are not supposed to be “happily” married yet have the libido of a piece of balsa wood.

We are not supposed to cry during or immediately after masturbating because we had to invent an imaginary person to fantasize about because we couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t feel raped knowing that we thought of them while touching ourselves.

What? Really? You’ve never done that?

We are not supposed to wake up angry because waking up means that we have to live yet another day of this life.

Waking up angry because your cats found a f@#$ing pen to chase all over the house all flipping night long, leaving you sleep deprived, delirious and ragey on the other hand…

We are not supposed to settle.

We are not supposed to cry over people who don’t love us or want us.

We are not supposed to turn on the shower so that nobody else in the house can hear that we are crying.

We are not supposed to hate our jobs.

Or be scared of our bosses.

Or eat ice cream for supper.

More than twice a week.

We are not supposed to waste hours of our lives feeling sorry for ourselves because we’ll never have enough money to take our kids to Disneyland.

Why?

Because Disneyland is stupid.

And also, because

That’s not living!

That’s not rejoicing!

We are supposed to rejoice dammit!

And as soon as I figure out how to do that I am going to tell you. And we are going to do it. And it is going to feel AMAZING.

In the meantime, I give you this homework. Play any song you can find about rejoicing on a loop until you’ve memorized it, and take a video of yourself singing along with it.

If you’re too lazy to find your own, you can use this one: Because it’s hilarious. And also awesome.

If you have a strong aversion to religious references, you can replace the word Lord with The Other L word, or any other word starting with any letter of your choice, and post your video here as a comment.

Oh my GOD (sorry non-lorders) How amazing would it be if somebody actually does this. PLEASE DO IT! PLEASE!!!!!!!

I promise to rejoice forever and an eternity if SOMEBODY does it.

And if you just read this and thought it was sad because none of this applies to you and you are already happy and blissfully rejoicing…

Prove it. By posting a video here of yourself doing it.

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