June 12, 2007


I don't want to rant and rave tonight. I don't want to write about the meaning of life, like so many cliche thinkers before me. I will not delve into the intensity or mystery of the Bible, and all its heavenly and glorious paradoxes. Tonight, I sit here wth nothing to say. Yes, it's happened. I am the antagonist in contemplation's autobiography. I am the arch nemesis to Augustine's philosophical conundrum, or Einstein's jarred brain, containing, quite possibly, the secret connection between quantum mechanics and general relativity. My socratic dialectic has been abandoned for tootsie rolls and cheap hamburgers. I am finally here, just a guy behind a computer screen, in desperate need of a shave and a bigger thesaurus. It's strange that I have to often times tell myself to stop thinking, to just slow down and take a breath. Life is the most annoying back seat driver I have ever known. This guy won't lay off. So here I am, having pulled over for you-know-who, cuz "man, I gotta' take a leak," wondering if now is my chance. I should just take off. I should leave him here, with his tool in hand and future orders stacked and ready to deal. I should be thirty miles away at this point; but I'm not. I'm still here. I think it's because I need someone to tell me where I should be. I need life barking orders in my ear all day long, just to know I am alive. Just to know I matter. Just to know I have somewhere to go if I can't figure it out on my own. Yet at the same time, this is about the laziest thing a person can do; just sit back, super-glue your foot to the accelerator, and try to keep up with just exactly where life is taking you. No stops. No restroom breaks. Plenty of chances to throw it all away with a sharp turn of the wheel.
So, as I said, I'm just the driver tonight. I'm not going anywhere I've predetermined, at least for the moment. It's a dangerous move, yes; but every once in a while it's fun to take a couple wrong turns. Hell, it's damn near the only way to know where you've been anymore.
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