Thinking for 41 million seconds, Oblongly on a Monday

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An ant sits on my desk.
I think it is lost. Far away from home and family. It moves its head from side to side, twitching its antennae. It tastes the air and I wonder if it can taste the coke droplets on my desk. Can it taste the disappointment of the phone call that I just received? It scuttles on, like the people behind me, walking by.

The seconds rush on faster faster, not bothering to say hello. And I call to see what’s for lunch. It’s the same diesel soaked food we always have. My thoughts are burdened by a mistake which makes eating oily food even more difficult.
Fast forward to a meeting. Not a meeting of minds, just egos and big bellies. Fatty thoughts hiding under thick hides. Bright smiles concealing sinister, true intentions. His mobile speaks, hers shines, theirs are the same color. Mine only makes phone calls and plays my music. It also reminds me to call home; tell my mother that I won’t be having my evening tea at home, today.

My mother is the epitome of arrogance. Not in a bad way though. I tell her not to arrange my dvds. She arranges my dvds to which I annoyingly ask: “Why?” To which she responds, “Shelves don’t clean themselves.” I pray to God, give sentience and a sense of shame to shelves. I love my mother to bits, God bless her. She raised three kids who think she doesn’t understand them. And yet this woman can tell the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek, knows a PlayStation from an XBox and knows when something is the matter. Unlike my Dad, who can only tell the difference between a government cover-up and a massacre, a good deal and a bad one, and a Distinction and a Fail.

Failure and I are old friends. It’s a friendship I hide well. I’m not too proud of what I did. I feel so sorry. I just need a chance at those 41,472,000 seconds again. Just to set things right. I don’t regret what I did, it’s how I did it that matters. It matters a lot.

Appearances matter. In this day and age, how you dress, what you dress in, and how much it cost you to dress yourself in it – all those things matter. Not a good heart. Not being good. Not a good sense of direction. There are no rewards for good people, instead they cower and run from labels and responsibilities. Responsibilities such as how many ceremonies to have before a wedding. Practicing dance routines. Getting new and shiny clothes stitched. Getting an MBA. Going away abroad. Decorating yourself with things that won’t ever matter. Instances of pleasure for moments of joy. Nobody is satisfied with an ever after of happiness.

I had McDonalds last night and the kid next to me got a box that said it had happiness in it. I could’ve beaten the kid senseless there and then, and made with the box like a banana and split. But I know they’re only talking about a stupid meal. Oh I shouldn’t have written that, its 5:42pm and I’m getting hungry for a McD’s. I’m also thinking where this is going, this piece. This is the first time I’m writing directly on to a message board. Just thought I’d try it out for a change. Hm. Hope I don’t lose the post. That’d be pretty bad. I’m not a big “one go” poster. Usually my thoughts are secluded in Word documents.

Hmph.

Forty one million seconds and then some.

All gone.