Time Out?

Its just around 12:30pm, when I reached into my bag to grab my wallet. I wanted to treat myself to some Wendy’s fries, when I feel my hand moving around a little too freely inside the deep pockets. My wallet isn’t there. This just can’t be right…I remember putting it into my bag late last night after a well spent night watching Sex and the City, the movie. At least, that’s what I think I did.

So I stop everything else I am doing, and concentrate at the now more pertinent task at hand: finding my wallet and the various cards and cash that compose my life. It’s not there. Maybe I left it in the front pocket? Nope. Perhaps I left it on my desk counter? Nope. Well, maybe I just didn’t see it in my bag. After removing the very few items I had in my bag - my copy of today’s 24, my daily Agenda, courtesy of Scouts Canada, and my trustee umbrella, for this consistently unpredictable Vancouver weather, I realize that it still isn’t there. Could I just have imagined putting it into my bag late last night? Or could it have slipped out at some point during my morning commute?

Regardless of how it managed to escape its usual place at the bottom of my bag, I did what any reasonable and logical girl would do. I called home. Perhaps I just left it on the couch when putting in my water bottle and fruit stock for the day. Answering machine, no one is home. So I called my mom’s cell...thinking, hoping rather, that she saw it on her way out.

No. A panicked, yet calm daughter asking her beloved mother a simple yet important question, and all I got was a “No.” Click. Is this what 22 years gets a girl these days?

No. A reassuring answer provided only by a compassionate co-worker who, without a moment’s hesitation, or even more amazingly without me asking, placed $10 in my hands to buy myself some lunch. This after only one and half months of working in the office, just 5 feet away from her.

So, with a mouthful of a Wendy’s spicy chicken burger (I haven’t yet got to the fries), I am left wondering, is there a limit on the niceness, compassion, and time a family can afford to spend on each other? And if so, where is the reset button?

Ever hear the phrase, "I'd rather stare at the wall?" I have...and well, I am not quite sure I completely understand what it means.

Can something really be SO boring that staring at a wall for an indefinite period of time is more interesteing? I doubt it. Nevertheless, the idea of staring at a blank wall does raise a few questions. Such as how long can the average joe stare at a blank wall before his interest starts to wane? Anthing more than a couple minutes and we might have to re-think the "normal" aspect.

Seeing things, or having the creative ability to project all sorts of imaginary objects onto this blank wall may very well signify a healthy and stimulated brain. However, being able to do so for an extended period of time may tap into something more psychotic.

I can see it now, psychologists all over the world will be instructing subjects to stare intently at a blank wall measuring how long it takes for the subject's gaze to divert. What sorts of images a person then describes seeing will quantify him along a infinite dimension of increasing psychopathy.

Soon enough, psychologists will be saying Rosarch Who? Who needs inkblots...we have white walls!!

Hello,

My name is Sheeba.

Goodbye.