Parallel Park.

The date today is April Seventeenth, and tomorrow it will be the Eighteenth. Yesterday, if you can possibly imagine, was the Sixteenth. Nothing is significant about these days, I just simply feel like reflecting on the days going by. Maybe reflecting isn't the correct word, but I can't think of a better one so that will have to do.

I truly hope that not one person out there sits in their box of a studio apartment, wake up each morning, and draw a tally mark on their cracked wall with a broken piece of yellow school chalk signifying another day that they have awoken. What a waste of life would that be? I hope no one wakes up and walks over to their refrigerator to find it empty save a glass bottle with warm, curdled milk. I hope, with every piece of me, that no one lives this life. Because that, in my definition, is the opposite of life. And the opposite of life, again this is just in my opinon, is not death. It's absolute boredom.

Really, why am I writing right now? It is because as I sit at work, bored out of my bones, and I watch the people walk by the front glass windows and think about their existances? A woman in a pretty cream shirt is loading her mini-van with a large Rubbermaid-kind of container. She looks as if she's misplaced her keys; visibly distraught. And an older man with a green-gray blazer with elbow patches that look like maxi-pads just crawled into the beige car parked in front of this office in which I "work." Somewhere, I once read that no one is to ever buy a beige car. Or tan. Or light brown. And as silly as it sounds, because of those few seconds that my eyes skimmed over those words, I will never buy one. Even if the car is perfect, and cheaper than dirt, God be my witness, I will never buy a beige car. Ever.

I think of life as a complete two-and-a-half star comedy. It's really just an outrageously long movie with about 6 billion characters over hundreds of thousands of miles to the east, west, north and south, including up and down, doing funny things. Coincidentally-funny things. And as I write, a beige car just pulled up and is attempting to parallel park in front of the office. Again with the beige. It's incredible how many people suck terribly at parallel parking. And now we actually have cars that will do this for us! Lazy. Lazy (adj.) = to purchase an automobile that will parallel park for the driver in order for the driver to not look like a jackass because the driver can't do the maneuver on his or her own. Oh, America.

I'm becoming almost comfortable with the possibility that not one human reads these blogs of mine. But really, this one doesn't have anything profound or important in it, which is just the way I enjoy to write. It's easy, and maybe I would even venture to call it 'fun,' to write in this manner. Someday, I should put together a book of all of my ramblings. It may not be successful, but people just might purchase a few. If I get fifteen people to buy it, I will color myself successful. Fifteen, that was the date of the day before yesterday. And I think that in the back of my book, or perhaps on the cover I will sketch a diagram, teaching lazy people how to parallel park.