I’m Fixing To Be Glad It’s Over

I’m fixing to be glad it’s over.

There have been a lot of situations, time periods and otherwise in my life of which I was certainly glad when they were over. Some of them I won’t mention because there were those which are just too painful to dwell on.

But some I will. I was glad, amazed and astounded when the last day arrived of my three-year enlistment in the U.S. Army. In one day I changed from a sergeant to a mister. I didn’t have to say “sir” to anyone I didn’t want to ever again.

I laughed, giggled and pinched myself all the way to Atlanta after I drove out of the front gate of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. I breezed through the Music City with a song in my heart and one on my lips. By the time I got to Chattanooga, reality had set in and I knew I didn’t have to make reveille the next morning.

As I cruised on down toward Atlanta, a free man, I remember back when I had only been in the Army for two weeks, at the tender age of 17, when it had hit me like a ton of bricks that I was facing three long years. And when you are 17, three years is an eternity. Nowadays three years go by faster than three weeks did back then.

Every time I ever moved I was always glad when it was over. I disliked the packing and the hauling and the unpacking and the reassembling of things. About the only thing good about moving is it made you aware of, and encouraged you to get rid of, all the stuff you had accumulated that you never used and never needed.
Then once you become acclimated to your new surroundings you can start gathering up more stuff you don’t need. I have known some folks who seemed to move every six months or so, and some others who hadn’t moved in 40 years. I bet they have a lot of stuff stacked up.

I was always glad when my annual physical was over. I would usually double up on my blood pressure medicine the day before because I knew that just the thought of that doctor poking and probing me would run my blood pressure up to an artificial high.

But once he gave me the the good news that I was in pretty good shape for the shape I was in, I would go and reward myself with a couple of country ham biscuits.

I guiltily admit that on some occasions I have been glad when church was over on Sunday, so I could beat those Methodists and Baptists to the buffet line.

It appears to me that just about everybody is sometimes glad about something being over. And that’s probably because we are born as imperfect beings into an imperfect world where we live imperfect lives surrounded by other imperfect people, some more so than others.

Right now I’m fixing to be glad when this afternoon is over and supper will be fixing to be ready.