Now and again I find myself in a daydream thinking about what people are doing while I’m thinking about what they’re doing. For example, right now I’m convinced that somewhere someone is:
- Painting their toenails and wincing because it hurts their back to do so;
- Standing in a line that is not moving;
- Explaining to an officer of the law what happened;
- Winding duct tape around something;
- Encouraging a child to either do or not do something;
- Trying to hold back tears;
- Crying;
- Begging for food;
- Praying;
- Cursing;
- Singing in the shower;
- Having an orgasm;
- Having a heart attack;
- Bursting with pride;
- Suffering shame;
- Drifting to sleep;
- Awakening;
- Falling in love;
- Falling into despair;
- Picking their nose;
- Picking a china pattern;
- Picking ripe tomatoes;
- Picking a casket;
- Entering life;
- Exiting life.
I imagine these people oblivious to the knowledge that I’m wondering what they’re doing. And why. And how. And taking some comfort that the wheel goes round and round and round; that we endure and not endure and struggle and relax. That, viewed from a distance, there’s a symmetry and a balance to it all until peering in close to see the broken heart in juxtaposition to the joyous one; the ridiculousness of painted toes in comparison to the struggle for nutrition. There are injustices wrought by the arbitrary lines of geopolitical divides; and injustices wrought by economic gerrymandering. Injustices of opportunity and means. Injustice against the person. Injustice against the self.
It’s all silly, poignant, important, meaningless, and cruel, but most people in their last breaths think, “Oh, please. Not yet.” At least I think they do.
And if you were wondering — I’m sprawled on my couch lamenting chipped nail polish and economic injustice. I’m writing this drivel and plotting, yet again, the best way to infuse my puny little life with meaning wondering all the while if by virtue of existence it already has meaning or if that’s a pig in a poke bought in the cosmic market square on credit at an interest rate I can’t afford. I’m also thinking somewhere else someone is riding a similar thought train. I’m also thinking about how much I’d really like a taco and for It’s a Small World to quit ricocheting around my brain.
W. Va. Fur and Root 
I wish I was the one having the orgasm.
Me too.
Profound, yes. I have had similar thoughts on occasion.
However, at such time that we actually meet, I will have to kick you in the shins for putting that FREAKING song in my brain.
I can only hope Disney himself is enduring an eternity of that damn tune.
It was nasty of me.
I grew up, in part, near Disneyland. Prior to 1967 when we moved to Hawaii, I had been to Disneyland more than any child in the world. My favorite ride was the teacups and if this piece was on display I have no memory of it. I have wonderful memories of the teacups, though. I could and did ride them for hours.
Still and so, I’m possibly the only child who went to a Disney theme park more than once without acquiring a pair of mouse ears of my own. My mother thought they were overpriced. I evidently didn’t want them bad enough to appeal to Dad, who I had wrapped around my finger.
It is a small world – and I love that ride at Disney World! It’s so cute!
Geez, that’s all kinda interesting, but depressing at the same time. . . what can I say. . . how about a little Emily?
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
– Emily Dickinson
P’raps I was a little sad, though I hadn’t meant to be. The heat has melted my brain and I find my thoughts, when I’m not sleeping, going off in strange directions. When I am sleeping, my brain visits even stranger locales. Of note, I recently found myself playing football with my ex-husband while my mother conducted a prayer meeting. Cut me some slack.