Putting the Cat Back Into the Bag

I’m sure you have, at sometime in your life, done something you really regretted, something that you would like to reverse…take back…hit the undo button, so to speak. Like the time when I…uh, uh…nope…I won’t go there.

The train has left the station, the bird has flown, the horse has bolted and the stable door is shut. As Lady MacBeth said, “what is done is done.”

How do you take something back?

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I have felt guilty about letting the cat out of the bag, passing on some juicy bit of gossip. In medieval times, shifty pig merchants substituted cats for pigs and when their customers got home they, to their surprise, let the cat out of the bag. They realized the fruitlessness of rebagging a cat.

They always claw back.

A couple of guys on YouTube with nothing better to do have managed to put toothpaste back in the tube: A complicated process and not a high-value proposition.

I can’t uncross the Rubicon. I have never even seen the Rubicon or had anything like Julius Caesar’s army to attempt it. I did cross Shit’s Creek a number of times but fell in trying to get back.

Just how do you unring the bell, unhear something? I am not a judge or a politician so I don’t have the skill-set to use fancy talk to prove that the bell was lying or even that its clanger was broken.

I would never attempt to unscramble an egg. Humpty Dumpty couldn’t pull it off, even with a lot of royal assistance. Besides, the Second Law of Thermodynamics argues against it: An egg, as it emerges from a chicken, is in a low entropy or ordered state and scrambling it puts it into a high entropy or disordered state aka, a total, irretrievable mess. I know, historically this applies to passing gas from a cold body to a hot body (I won’t go any further with that) and some quantum physicists disagree with the theory, but who am I to argue with them.

Turning back the clock has just given me more time to relive my guilt.

Or maybe I just have to settle for the notion that if I have irreversibly gone to the dogs. All of the chewy toys in the world aren’t going to get me back.

Or gone down the tube.

Or have come apart at the seams.

Really, I just think I am losing my marbles.