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].
