If I were still in school, then I would have finished my finals and been on my way to Texas right about now. I would have thought about my three weeks of doing nothing with disdain, and worried about things like missing Adam's kickass end of the year barbeque and will my roommate feed my fish.
I'm not in school anymore. All of it seems like a story that happened to someone else.
Today is grey outside like the shade on a perfect day, perfect in the sun, warm after cold. But the sun won't come out today. The clouds are too thick.
Sitting outside and smoking a cigarette, my wisco sweatshirt only provides a flirtatious sense of almost-warmth. I really want the sun to break out from behind this massive wall of clouds and hold me. I want it to explode and melt, and drizzle on the earth like a glorious nuclear melted cheese. But today is just grey, and the sun is on vacation, or hiding, or like many of us, simply withdrawn on occasion.
I've spent the day watching chemicals drip slowly through plastic tubing into glass tubing. When the glass tubes fill up to a certain point, the liquid spills over into flasks with blue pebbles in them. It does this over and over again, all day, and my job is to watch it to make sure it doesn't explode.
Sometimes I lose myself tracing my eyes along all the tubes, moving in and out of each other. I think about sleeping, and the bubbles in the tubes look like a picture movie projected on a screen made out of ocean waves, moving moving.
I pretend that I can see molecules and atoms because who is to say that I can't. Blue Sky Molecules look like very excited passengers on an invisible micro-train that travels quickly on quantum tracks. They go every which direction faster than lightspeed and sometimes they're there, and sometimes they're not. Not depending on anything, but just because.
it seems like the kind of day with multiple outcomes that ends without the proper punctuation
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