Industrial dish soap spilled across a metal tray is livid green against the silver, but the interplay of unstable surface tension is fascinating. Invisible bubbles pop and send flash-flame ripples through the pool; the surface pulls together, creating more circles and bubbles; others eventually collapse because the contracting surface draws together more soap, which puts pressure on existing bubbles. And then the even surface is too unstable to stay flat, and somewhere another bubble forms where the tension pulls the soap back apart.

Somewhere in my mind, I thank existence for giving me a mind that can understand why this works, and wonder if I’m just a little bit crazy, because soap surface tension reminds me of the way people act.

Then again, how many people have enough time, are bored on dish shift in their university dining halls, and have enough of flexible minds to contemplate a pool of dish detergent behind them?

—

People drive me up the wall. Potential unfulfilled pains me to see. Ignorance is despicable. Posturing gives me a headache. Incompetence disgusts me– but especially when I know they’re under-performing in something I know I could do better myself. People with egos larger than their capacity for eloquence? Augh. And recently, people thinking they’re more intelligent than they are. Thanks for trying, but someone might pop your little balloon facade with a pin and find it to have been full of hot air.

Yet such things as compassion, insight, and empathy keep tipping me backwards. Because I can understand why they do it, what causes it, and my sort of understanding means I can’t hate people.

Someday, this tidal push and pull is going to tip me emotionally off-kilter– oh, wait.

That suddenly makes a lot of sense.

…To be honest, I suppose I’m just restless. Blogging as an outlet makes me sound more depressed than I really am. Restless and tired. And I don’t have anywhere to go–

No, not true. I just don’t have anyone to go to here. Or there. Or anywhere but home.

Conclusion: I just need to shut my brain off. I need to put stock in others much, much less. Put stock in myself much, much more. And life will be much, much better.

But I won’t do it, because that’ll just make me like the same people who’ve been driving me up the wall. I’ll keep caring and wondering even if it kills me, because hope springs eternal. If I put myself out there for the crows long enough, maybe I’ll catch an eagle or two.

Whoo!