Strange is our Situation

"Strange is our situation here on Earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know; that man is here for the sake of other man." ::Albert Einstein::

I write like I talk and I talk like I think. In fragments stumbling over each other to fall in line. But nothing ever falls in line. So I write much like I dance, without rhythm or form. I live like I dance. Einstein's quote is the music I hear and try my very best to step to. I became quickly exhausted by searching for that "answer". An answer heavy enough to squash the question of "why are we here?"


I work in Hartford. (Let's not talk about where.) So I went to the bar for lunch today, by myself, and I brought my book. Not too long after I got through one page, I heard the two old men sitting next to me muttering about it. I looked up and one of them started with "I don't mean to be nosey, but can you tell me about that book?" So I did.

His name was Keith, and his friend was Rolph. Keith was from England, and Rolph from Brooklyn, NY, not that any of that is at all pertinent to my point. Stumble, step, stumble...back in line...

The book I am reading is called Nickel and Dimed - On Not Getting By in America by Barbara Ehrenreich. A journalist who the lives the life of a minimum wage worker and documents just exactly why it is near impossible to survive.

Anyway, Keith and I hit it off. He says he has never felt so disappointed with this country, as he does now. He says no one talks anymore. He says the idea of a "neighbor" is gone. He says me talking to them is "brilliant!" because usually, this sort of thing never happens. He says our generation does not seem very socially conscience. He says he's worried about whats to come. We talk for about an hour. I tell him I know a lot of people my age who are very socially conscious, and to believe me, they're out there. He asks where I work. I regret to inform him, an insurance company. He says that doesn't seem right, why? I say, it's only temporary - He laughs. He says "life is only temporary my dear."

I could have walked away right then. He's right. He said "it may seem very permanent to you at your age, but truuuusttt me, its oonnlllyy temporary." He made me promise to get out, he made me promise not to become a "corporate Twinkie." I shook on it. He said, "please, don't be like me, don't get stuck in a corporation." He said our conversation was refreshing, we all left laughing.

An extremely similar situation happened in Bushnell Park with a guy who I pass every day, sitting on the bench. Two hours later, we were both laughing, smiling, and thanking each other for great conversation. He said "this is refreshing."

So wy are we here? Well now I am here to fulfill a pact with a man named Keith that I met at a bar at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon. I am here to dance to Einsteins song. I am here for those less fortunate than me, I am here to make their time worthwhile. Because if life is temporary, then so are our relationships, and so is our "purpose". So let's not stress ourselves with the pursuit of the "answer", let's dance the baby steps. Let's start conversations. Lets laugh with people who forgot how. Lets learn the names of the people we pass on the bench. Lets listen to those who have lost their voice. Lets get lost when it all intertwines and overlaps and connects.
Lets not be "ants", as they say in Waking Life.

That's all.

A Temporary Rebellion

Today, my friend told me I ruined him.
I laughed.
I said "that's only because you take me seriously."

He visited, we spent hours juggling disgruntled thoughts about how to live our lives over coffee. (Way too much coffee I might add.) Then he went back to his farm of rice and soy beans, and I want back to my cell. I mean, cubicle.

But I have been defiant ever sense. My life may seem relatively unexciting and smooth from the exterior, but thats because you don't have a window to the small rebellions I stage.
Today...I didn't shower. I didn't wear a bra. I DID wear corduroys. And I remained barefoot for long stretches of time.
My other friend told me he doesn't like revolutions, only endeavors.
There you have it, friend. The endeavors of a corporate sell out.

It's ok though, because I face two options. I can find it depressing. Or I can find it amusing.
I've succumbed to both. Let me tell you, the latter is much more rewarding.

So now I like to picture my current life as something similar to a comic strip. I have slipped between the corporate cracks, and am a secret agent from "the other side", compiling research on how the machine runs, and therefore, how to destroy it. How to destroy it from the inside. I'm the roper.
I revel in defying their inhumane restrictions such as "dress code" and "1 hour breaks" and "using email for business purposes only."
I disrupt the "white noise" by laughing out loud or swearing at the person formerly on the phone.

Meanwhile, I collect my paychecks and stash them away (sort of) while planning an escape back to my real life.

I become more reckless with each day in passing. Maybe tomorrow, I'll be called to action. I'll get the go ahead to kick down the cubie walls and demand that we all be freed. I will call for an end to gopher-conversation with your neighbor! An end to windowless daydreaming of the possible changes in weather patterns! Shed your suits and ties folks, the revolution is here! Kick off your penny loafers and tousle that hair! And follow me!
Follow me past the 3 levels of security!
Follow me barefoot and untucked down to the park!
Follow me to the river, where we will throw a frisbee and feed ducks with the homeless!

Then I will bask in my mission accomplished, corporate cubies demolished.
After that you're all on your own. I'm only a temp, folks.