Part of me, a large part of me, wishes I could spend a lot more time writing. Like, pretty much all of my time. If it weren't for that pesky job, and sleep. So much time wasted on sleep. I should just write instead. I might get better!
Part of me is very attached to sleep, though, and wishes for more. Imagine what I could do with my life if I were actually well rested and alert enough to think straight.
Part of me would like to apply that improved thinking to my job. I would like to get a lot better at it. To be really proficient, really on the ball. The person who has the answers, and can make it happen. Yeah, That Guy.
Part of me wishes I had more time for yoga. I would be so much healthier if I could just do yoga every day. Just three hours of yoga a day, and I would be so healthy. Oh, and meditation. I should learn to meditate. I've tried it a couple of times, and it was nice; but I feel like I should take my meditation practice up a notch. Maybe twice a year from now on.
Part of me would like to read more poetry. I've always been curious about poetry. And philosophy. And zines. I should read those zines. Some poor closeted freak scrawled that thing and stapled it together, and I should acknowledge his effort.
And part of me wishes I had more tolerance for Barbies. I suppose I should feel honored that my daughter wants to share time with me. Now that I have my own Ken doll (thanks, Fathers Day!), I really have no more excuses.
So, which part of me should get the reigns today?(less)
The train compartment is almost empty except for one middle aged man over by the window. I say "bon soir" just to be polite and I take a seat near the door. It's getting dark so I don't care about the window; I turn on the light and open(more) my Let's Go France.
I have been in the country less than twelve hours and I already miss Africa. I'm also tired.
The trains begins its trek from Paris to Toulouse. I am still reading when three young men jostle their way into the compartment. They are college age, maybe a few years younger than me. They giggle and joke with each other in French. I continue reading but at some point I hear them talking about me. I look up.
Now they want to interact with me. I think they are surprised than I am able to converse in French. But I've just spent the last two year speaking French so I can get by just fine. However, I'm not sensing real friendliness. They remind me of men who have just come out of a bar and are looking for a fight, or a dog to kick. My guard is up.
One of them is doing most of the talking. He is slightly antagonistic. Maybe he doesn't like Americans. The man by the window ignores the whole thing; he might not like Americans, either.
If this were a train in Africa, we'd all be on a first name basis by now. There would be friendly joking and teasing. And flirting, of course. But these people are all from such a different world. I'm happy when the young men leave shortly after. I still miss Africa.
We are all here playing with our smart phones in the bar.
Texting associates while watching others from afar.
Sometimes it's not easy to approach another,
So you sit down and you order another.
Wait around- everything starts to fade away.
Asking yourself, will I be lucky another day?
Outside the machine- there is another way.
So often, days are measured in the events that took place – the good, the bad, the ugly. Petty things are remembered and grudges carried with the start of another day. We triumph at the moments that bring us success and cry at the disappointments life deals to us.(more) But that’s not how days should be judged. Because in the end, all that matters is that we are all still here.(less)
At 4:58, we are all here. Most of us, anyway. And even though we are done, we will stay. Till 5:58. Or 6:58. Because someone thinks it's important that we do so. Naturally, that person isn't here. But we'll sit anyway, because that's what we do.
(more) When was it that we lost the ability to think for ourselves? To stand up for what makes sense? When did we all become corporate lemmings? Geez, it's depressing. I'm just sitting here watching the rain fall harder and the sky grow darker and my mood sink lower.
We are all here, not the 99% vs the 1%, or the 53% vs the 47% or the whites vs the blacks or the Jews vs the Muslims, but all of us. Here. On this Earth, the only one we have. We play stupid games at work, at home and at war. It's time to pick ourselves up and realize that we are all here, together, and only together will we be able to be here tomorrow.
Everything sounds like a manifesto these days. Everything is a gimmick. Including God.(less)
John Sawyer Jr. motioned the rest of the conspirators closer and flipped open his gold-colored (he'd never bothered to determine its actual composition) pocket watch. "He's going to be back at three o'clock on the dot and I want to give him a little taste of silence before we get(more) things started, so let's all synchronize our watches and hold our positions until three-oh-four."
Five sets of hands moved in accordance with this plan at varying speeds.
Some reservations remained. "Are you sure we can all hide down here for even four minutes without him catching on that someone's here?"
There was some solemn nodding throughout the group. "Ara has a point. He's kind of...alert."
"Not just 'kind of,'" another colleague agreed.
There followed some general snickering on the matter, which resulted in the younger Mr. Sawyer pushing the time of their attack up two minutes, but, for the most part, the plan would proceed intact. It had taken some effort to round everyone up for an event other than their every tenth year meeting and John Jr. wasn't about to let it go to waste.
Into the closet, under the table, and behind the couch they went as the appointed time drew nearer. John Jr. found himself holding his breath as he watched the hands on his watch tick away.
The door opened at thirty-five seconds after three. John Sawyer Sr. was just as punctual as promised. Even entering his own home he gave off an air of caution (the man was predictable in his unpredictability - at least half of the six were certain he knew).
John Sr. reeled slightly at the cheerful shouts that pummeled him from every direction. "I suppose this was your idea," he addressed John Jr.
we are all here huh? the junkies and the homeless and the alcoholics, are they here? we say they are there only when we must, or if someone wants our money. its sad, how a billion people arent there.....