Rat in a Race

Today is a Friday. For those running back home after a grueling week of work, they may find this day to be their respite. Contradictorily, today I feel frustrated by a lack of work. I must rest my arm today, so away stays the knitting and god forbid if I wriggle my fingers to create some art. Unless I want to prolong the stay of my constant companion; Pain.

It feels awfully unsettling to not be creating something every moment of my wakefulness. Although even in my sleep I yearn to awake and create structures within a lucid and magical dream. These thoughts have indeed sprung up the notion whether I have perhaps transformed into a fuzzy little creature. A rat. Although not literally, for I'd be quickly disowned over the miraculous event.

The thought does linger 'Am I too a rat in this nonsensical race?'.

The people are running, that is certain. Are they running towards a finish line? Towards a prize or even a candy? This no one seems to be able to tell for sure. Money is a motivation, yes, and comforts that wealth and power could bring. But no one ever sees a couch and tackles it, on the opposite I have noticed people will often not even sit on said couch. They prefer to stand or walk on by to scrutinize more things of comfort making good use of their legs and most certainly their mouths.

"Oh Mr. Rich Shoes, are you pleased with your purchase of this rare wooden center table?" "Why certainly! It fits right in under my high definition wide screen television that can function as a phone as well, Mrs. Heavy Purse."

"My watch can do that too, although I haven't figured out which end the voice comes out from." "Yes, perhaps they'll soon make earrings that can speak so we need not yell into our wrists. So how do you like the dirt repellant paint on the walls?"

I'm not entirely sure where that conversation happened but then again I do dabble in fiction. So, back to putting the money where the mouth is. We tend to pick up the coins by the roadside, though rarely the trash. It suggests so far that the race is about money, but not entirely about comfort. For if we wanted to be comfortable wouldn't we simply, well, stop running?

So it seems to me I have gotten too caught up in this race. Trying to run with my hurting legs has not done me any good either. So today I shall do my best, after finishing this little bit of writing of course, to rest. I may have turned into a little creature that nibbles clothes and money notes alike, but in knowing this perhaps I can find a remedy. After all, just because people seem to be running towards something, doesn't actually mean there's a race.

We all get to our destination one way or another.