Staggered Logs
- W. James Steck II
/The Push We eat too fast. Always struggling to make the dots connect, the places, faces, spaces fit comfortably into our day-to-day. We are lulled by the warmth of morning sheets, we are seduced by the thought of a loved one (real or imaginary), we are teased by visions of ourselves living our dream atop a mountain side, adrift at sea, afoot in foreign lands, ahead financially as our own boss, aligning changes in the order of the world, aloof in a marvelous new way or living. We metaphysically drool over the things that we'd love to do and the places we'd love to be and yet, we cease to be there. We might stop to consider - "Why?" Why do we postpone the pleasures of the moment, when by doing so, we shake the hands of tomorrow's promise for the same tiring rituals of self-denial? Why are we stopping to consider? Where are we headed to from where to be stopping? Why aren't we happy? /The Scene You've driven this road a thousand times before. Sitting as circumstance will commonly find you, at the familiar cross-street traffic light, you absently stare off into the bumper of the car in front of you, waiting, waiting for the okay to go. Waiting for the okay to go. Snapping our of it - just what is taking so long? You're going to be late! And then... well, you still have to go to get ... and oh, you forgot to get the... which reminds you that you really wish you hadn't said that before you left... you know she took that the wrong way.. because ... well, how couldn't she, considering... hmmm... well, if you can just do this, then... but, great!... with this delay you're probably not going to be able to do any... AHGH!!TRAFFIC!!