NASA composite image

Maybe it’s all these Bud Lights I’ve been drinking, but this eclipse has my head spinning like a bald tire in a mud ditch. What if Lisa hates me? I love my wife so goddamn much I could fight a wolfman with a ping-pong paddle. And that’s the thing of it, I suppose. My love for Lisa is like the Sun. I want to be with her more than anything in the world—more than I want to win a boat in a boat raffle at a boat expo. But she’s probably going to cheat on me, so maybe I should leave her first.

I mean, I don’t know she’s planning on being unfaithful. It’s just... why wouldn’t she? Right? My dad always told me I’d grow up to be a worthless bag of old crab meat, and that turned out to be true. I am worthless, and even though I’m not literally a bag of old crab meat, sometimes after work I smell like it.

But despite my being worthless and all, Lisa’s stuck by me. She supported me through all my business ventures, like the time I tried to sell vitamin drinks on the Facebook. So maybe she’s not two-timing me. And maybe my thinking that she will is like the Moon—passing in front of the Sun, blocking the light of my love for her. Maybe the Moon represents my low self-esteem, or, at the very least, the vestiges of a deep-rooted misogyny that’s been ritualistically handed down from father to son, from generation to generation. Maybe if I learn to love myself, I can accept Lisa’s love. Maybe then that darkness inside me can pass on by, like the shadow of the Moon.

Hell, I’m no philosopher. I’m just a son of a bitch staring at an eclipse.