Need a friend? Try a tornado

Every time I start to feel like I’ve got a pretty good grip on things, something happens to demonstrate to me, once again, that I have no control over my life whatsoever.
That may sound like the statement of a forlorn, hopeless man, but let me assure you, gentle readers, nothing could be further from the truth.
Gradually, over a lifetime of having my fondest hopes ripped to shreds and scattered over my head like confetti, I have come to embrace and even welcome disaster. I can deal with disaster. I am familiar with it. We’ve known each other for years. I had disaster over to the house for dinner last week. One of disaster’s kids is named after me.
I no longer rejoice in good luck, knowing as I do that anything which appears to be fortuitous is, in reality, a set-up for a let-down. Good luck is a sham, a falsehood, a mockery, a red herring, a judas goat, a wil o’ the wisp, a pooka. Good luck is Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown and, when he runs up to kick it, pulling it away so he flies through the air and falls flat on his back.
If you ever want to see genuine misery, go talk to the guy who won the Publishers Clearing House drawing a year after he gets the check. A sorrier sight you’ll never see. His very existence has become a burden. He knows, you see, that his life has reached its zenith. Everything from here on out is subtext - a steady, relentless procession that is headed downhill.
Believe me, gentle readers, when viewed from the proper perspective, nothing is more comforting or dependable than disaster. Your friends may betray or desert you. Your family may ignore or disapprove of you. Your dog may bite you or run away to live with somebody who hates you. But disaster is always there, waiting patiently until you have a few minutes to spend in quiet contemplation of the fact that your entire life has been pretty much a waste of time.
You know what to expect from disaster. It never disappoints you or treats you like you don’t matter. You know that disaster will always think you’re important enough to spend quality time with.
When I go out to start my car in the morning, I am mildly disappointed when the engine roars to life, throbbing with the promise of taking me to my destination quickly and efficiently. How much more satisfying it is to turn the key in the ignition and have the engine sit there inert, like the lump of expensive, useless metal that I know, in my heart, it really is.
When I look at the stars in the night sky, I find a certain quiet tranquility in the knowledge that my house, for reasons of cosmic unimportance, sits on the surface of a meaningless hunk of rock, spinning pointlessly around second-class star that the rest of the galaxy wouldn’t miss if it went up in flames.
And if that depresses you, just think about how the moon must feel about it.
Ah, yes, friends, it must be admitted that no matter how dreadful things might look right now, we know that spring is just around the corner. And with it comes tornado season.