Stream of Consciousness

When I want to write but can't think of what to write about, I just start typing and hope that something sticks. Like in this instance, a lot of times it just ends up being a mismatched collection of thoughts.

Things always look different from above. Standing on the top of a building gives you such a different perspective. The potholes seem smaller. The streets seem shorter. Nothing seems too big to handle from high enough. I wonder if that's why God can do what He does. If it's because He's so high in the air that he's able to get the perspective that He has. Of course, being God probably doesn't hurt. Sure, I can stand here on the top of my own little world and muse about perspective and distance and tiny ant-like people. But I'm not omnipresent. I'm not omniscient. Which is a good thing. I wouldn't want that sort of hassle. To listen to everyone’s heart.

Not their thoughts, mind you. Their thoughts I wouldn't mind. Buy more milk. Does he like me? I want to look like Brad Pitt. Even the more upsetting thoughts wouldn't throw me for a loop. I think that I could deal just fine with being a mind reader. It's a heart reader that would make me cry. I can't imagine what the cry of a heart sounds like. I would think that it would be the most heartbreaking sound. I know that my thoughts and my heart speak two different languages and it would be a shock to hear it out loud.

Just what would my heart say? I'm not sure. Maybe it would cry out that life is just too hard. Maybe it would cry out that life is just too lonely. Honestly, I couldn't tell you. Like I said, my thoughts and my heart speak two different languages. Trying to decipher it is like trying to speak a foreign language from a guidebook. You may make a sentence, but who knows if it will be understandable.

Friday State workers and construction workers look a lot alike. The blue jeans and tired expressions are the thing that ties them together the most. Although in this heat, the sweat does that as well. Actually, the main difference isn't dusty boots or briefcases; it's the look on the state workers faces. They are done with their work. They’ve toiled and now they are on their way to rest. The faces of the construction workers are still focused. Still hard. That relaxing of the muscles, that lightness of the eyes isn't something that they have yet. It'll get there. In a few hours, when the machines have stopped and the lights are turned off, they'll head home and once again, it will be difficult to name their profession as anything other than human being.

Oh look! The clock is wrong. Or maybe I just can't tell from here. It looks like it's still at 4:55, but maybe its inching closer than what I can tell. Time is funny that way. Depending on where you are, it can be slow or fast. Taking days to inch forward a second or going by in the blink of an eye. I wonder how hard it was to measure time in the beginning. Sit five people down and tell them to speak up when a minute has passed would most likely garner you five different answers. But I suppose that's the trick of time. The trick that it plays on us all. A day is just 24 hours, conveniently measured for us, but time flits around like a poodle on pixie sticks. One moment she flies past as we try to grasp her, keeping just out of our reach. Other times she clings to us
heavily, sleeping and keeping us stuck in a mire of timelessness.

I've always wanted to drive construction equipment. I wonder why. Is it the size of the vehicles? The idea of piloting something so massive? Is it the usefulness? The thought that I could be doing something to help, to fix or create? Or is it simply the beep? The sound that trucks make when backing up. At times I feel like a kid who wants to make a lot of noise by gunning my engine and beating the horn and making the backing up beep sound.

Maybe it's a good thing that I'm not allowed to drive a cement truck.

Yeah, dude, that's just peachy. I'm sure that you in your big truck and your booming stereo don't really care that you've just blocked me in my spot. Of course, your passenger could get out before mine, but that's just an assumption. Mine could be on their way right now and here you sit, blocking my exit. Sometimes the rudeness of people just astounds me. I came in here and although there was no one in these two spots, I took the time and care to angle my car to take up only one spot. I not only wanted to make it easier for the person already parked to get out, I wanted to give someone else an option to park next to me. It wasn't something that was easy. I had to back up and twist and turn and make an effort. Kindness should take an effort It should be hard, should be difficult. Should take more than just mindlessness. And when it does take that effort, when it does require someone to be just a bit selfless, then it should be rewarded. Or at least respected. It shouldn't just be ignored and forgotten as you satisfy your own self love.

Isn't that just the crux of where rudeness comes from? Not from hatred or spite or callousness. It comes from self-love. The desire to make yourself happy or content and the complete disregard of anyone else. The thought of only one person in the world, you.