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"Who'd Have Thunk?" He Thinks He Thought.

I like the rain. Nature’s ways of cleaning itself, removing the filth leaving only … well, whatever’s left. (Duh. That wasn’t as poignant as I’d have liked.) I like to walk in the rain. To partake in this age-old cleansing ritual. The small droplets of water cascading in a steady, though broken, stream; bombarding me and removing the stink of this world.

Well, actually, the world’s just dandy. It’s the people I can’t stand. The ones with power especially. They walk around with their suits and their ties and their coats and their lies. And their promises. Their never-ending stream of insincere promises. I suppose it’s to be expected that liars don’t make good on their promises.

Sometimes I think we all might do some good from walking in the rain; letting it wash us. If everyone, particularly those individuals with power, could just see the muck that they’ve attached to themselves they might rediscover who they are, independent of all the muck. They might find their true selves.

Then again, that mightn’t be a great idea. What if the muck makes them a better person? And the removal of said muck only reveals a rotten core? The rotten core of a once not so rotten person. Or the rotten core of an always rotten person.

But, alas, this musing gets me nowhere. Where’s the good in spending a lifetime thinking of solutions to troublesome problems if you never take any action towards implementing those solutions? Then again, I guess sometimes the best course of action is inaction. Sometimes. I wonder if I can take any solace in that?

Hmm. Sometimes it seems that the only people capable of doing anything are the people who couldn’t care less. Perhaps on the way to gaining the means, they lose the drive?

If you’ve not noticed yet, I tend to think a lot. I like thinking. It’s fun. Kills time. You’d be surprised how often people seem to act thoughtlessly; going through their days with a routine of perfected perfunctory-ness.
But just because I think so much doesn’t mean I act thoughtfully or consciously. I think I think so much because I often simply put my body on auto-pilot.

Whoa. Thinking about thinking. That’s too meta for me.
I’ve noticed about myself, recently, that I have a tendency to say one thing and then follow it up immediately with a counterpoint. I do the same thing with my thoughts as well. It’s as though I’m constantly arguing with myself, only there’s no side that I’m rooting for. This duality in arguments is both cool and annoying; it makes decision making a little hard. I’ve been told more than once that I need to learn to make up my mind.

While I was never told that in this instance, the sentiment certainly applies. Being of my age group, I am often drawn into conversations of collegiate aspirations. In instances such as that, I feel rather left out and melancholic. Everyone seems to have that one thing they’re striving for. They all seem to have found their purpose; their guiding light. I haven’t found mine yet. I’m lost.

Maybe that’s why I think so much. Trying to find my purpose through introspection. I suppose I could always just make a decision about my future. But again, I am indecisive. Or maybe I think so much about so many different things so that I don’t have to think about anything that really matters.

Once again within my numerous thoughts, I realize that I think most furiously, and of topics of the least relevance, in times of duress. I did so whenever our team was losing a basketball game as I ran up and down the court and I do so now. Right now, in fact.

I guess some real exposition and scene setting is in order here. I was walking home (in the rain) and was more aware of my surroundings than normal (I had, by some happy accident, forgotten my iPod). And so it was that I happened to walk passed (past? I was physically passing the place, so, yes. Passed) one of those cesspools of misdeeds known as an alleyway. And I saw therein an act for which alleyways are infamous – a mugging.

The man being mugged was wearing a suit, a red tie, and a rather nice coat. He gave off an air of importance. And fear. There was a lot of fear in his features. The mugger had on him what you might expect a mugger to wear and I briefly wondered whether there was some sort of superstore called “Robbers R Us.”

Anyway, as I stood and watched, a classic inner argument raged within my head. To be or not to be a Hero? However, there was a winning side this time..

Remember how I said I like to think? (How could you forget? It’s not like I haven’t mentioned a dozen times so far) Sometimes I’m so busy thinking that I miss out on other things. Important things. Like weapons.

After the shot, the would-be mugger fled in a flight of fear. I don't know exactly what happened to the suited man. I think I saw him pick up an umbrella. He said something about promising to do something as he walked off, his muck shielded from the rain. I don’t know.

And that’s what started off this whole sequence of thoughts. Rain, power, lies.

I should have known I wouldn’t be able to successfully pull off a single act of heroism. I was never much of a main character. I’ve always played more of a supporting role. Yet, in a way, I’m sort of relieved. No more worries of the future. That’s slightly comforting.

And as I begin to slip into a state of calm acceptance of my fate, my thoughts, my ceaseless thoughts, bring something to mind.
Before I can stop it, a memory replays. It’s the final words of one of my favorite TV characters.

I realize too late that I agree completely with him in that moment.









“I don’t want to go.”





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