The worlds we are

I am interested in the concept of a passive revolution. This is how all revolutions begin. It is the seed germinating under our trash. It is the scent that concentrates in the morning sun. Discontent begins internally and violently. It is fascinating to me how such a dramatic shift goes virtually unnoticed over the course of weeks which may be months or years. This is the passive part. We are all like the days, we count, we gather in groups and we make the tide turn, we wait our turn, we miss our ride, we are in the right place, we know the wrong people, the hands of the clock are pointing outside the cycle hinting with an arrow that there must be another way to go around.

The best part of sobriety, or not drinking alcohol, is the predictability. The crispness of mental clarity gives one a false sense of power and control. More commonly, however, the doldrums of routine feel poignantly pointless rendering most powerless and ready for a stiff drink. The power to deny ourselves may not be a life-saving choice. When meaning escapes me, I have learned not to replace this vacancy with alcohol by volume or other similar chemical costumes.  Despite the encouragement of concerned citizens,  I remain naked and exposed, sober and certain. Meaning finds me making room and making up the bed for a long term guest. 

I was going to make chicken again for dinner. I no longer believe that a Revolution is simply having too much idle time with our hands, it is because we have never really gotten to the seed of the need for revolt. Confidently, I am able to predict that at 5 p.m. I will be standing at the kitchen counter. Maybe I will make eggs instead.

Have you ever asked someone if they were hungry and the first thing they did was check the time? Almost everyone does that. 

My stomach is not on my wrist or inside my smartphone. 

Wouldn't we know if we were hungry? Shouldn't we know what the body needs?

What do you say when someone asks you, “How are you doing (today)?” Usually, we have a loaded standard response we return like an echo, sometimes we only hear the end. 

I think the question is framed in a way that is impossible to answer depending upon the emphasis. There is statistical evidence that comparison praise is detrimental to performance and self-esteem. I do not know How am I doing it, I don’t really know which thing I am currently doing, can we say we do not know without seeming dismissive or dumb? You probably don’t care about what you seem to be (doing) to others nor should you consider how.

I am doing great. That is a great response. I agree. 

My daughter, a college student, just purchased a pencil pouch that has an illustrated headstone which reads “R.I.P. C.O.D. (Cause of Death) Small Talk”. It is comforting to be common-enough-to have your opinion on a zippered pouch. Her name is not common so she was never able to get the once-popular name pencils, license plate frames and Cokes. Do they still make those? Pencils?

I have a couple thousand weeks left in total to do what I need to do. 

I don’t think I have ever finished a To-Do list entirely in a day without any carry-over. Ambitious. 

It drives me crazy. When you sit that still, you can actually hear the second hand move across your spine. The seconds it takes to change a mood, the seconds it takes for the sun to set under the horizon line, the seconds it takes for the light of a falling star to disappear...There are no seconds. There are only firsts. Nothing has been done before. Exactly.

He comes home. Drinks. Eats. Gets on his phone. Talks about youthful memories and aggravating work. He worries about his workload tomorrow. I wonder about escape velocity and payloads. He wishes there was more time in a day-to get all of the work done. He is always doing things until they are done.

He is not doing so great.

We sit on the Goldilocks planet porch, there is only a table between us. He sips his scotch, I crunch ice cubes and the worlds spins its yarns.

Our lives revolve around holding each other a safe distance a part and passively ever after,

thinking of the thick atmosphere and ways to escape without incineration. 

Painting by Walter Dendy Sadler, 'Married' c. 1896 in [Public domain].