Absorbed

I've been very absorbed lately.

The last several weeks have been a blur work-wise. It takes most of the intelligent thought out of me, so by the end of the day I've got nothing left. Fortunately, I've reached a plateau where I can take a breath and look about again.

So what do you notice when you don't have time to notice anything? You notice the most insignificant details which your mind catalogs and plays back later. We're talking minutiae here: I noticed that when you spill your drink on the rug, Kleenex isn't very absorbent but toilet paper is.

I noticed that lady's dye job is growing out and the roots are showing. The tourists on the Metro don't know where to stand on the escalator. That kid on the train has the bluest eyes. You need at least 10 good seconds to cross the street in the city without running. Why would you wear flip-flops on the Metro? Won't somebody step on your bare feet? The pain in my temples is because the veins are swollen due to stress. I'm going faster, but not getting anywhere.

A thousand details that don't amount to anything; they're just there taking up space in your day.

On Saturday I stopped -- and went to confession and Mass and remembered the one thing that was important: Him.