The waiting room

It's like I'm sitting in the waiting room of life. 

It's walls are a pale blue color, the chairs are all lined nicely against the wall with the occasional little end table and a pile of uninviting magazines like Fishing or Oprah. There's some odd music going on in the background and the blinds on the windows are all slanted at odd angles that neither let the light in nor keep it out. A mirror hangs on the wall between the two windows, it isn't anything special. It's just a mirror that when you look into it, you see some strange person that you know is you, but yet isn't. You're seperate from yourself here, but more inside yourself than ever before. 

It's not a waiting room where you're waiting for the dentist, the therapist, a hair appointment or for being booked for that final speeding ticket or parking violation at the police station. It's that stand still in life where you don't know what you're doing, where you've realized that you've made the ultimate mistake or you just don't know what your next move is going to be. So instead of idling in the middle of on going traffic, life sets you down in a quiet place, kind of like a lull in your grand opus. You don't realize that you're here for a while, you walk into this place thinking of all the other things you need to do, what you need to fix, who you need to see. Then suddenly you're looking at yourself in that mirror on the wall and then you look around and notice the tacky colors and strange music and you think to yourself "Wait a second.." and then you realize that your life is not going the way you want it to and you need a serious physicatric analysis. 

So once you accept that you're here, you take the time to sit in one of those oddly comfortable chairs and stay a while. Just going through the motions but all the while thinking, retracting so deeply into yourself that no one else really notices the kind of pain, anxiety, or simple questioning that is going on inside your head. You head is in the waiting room while your body is experiencing everyday life. The question of how long you're going to be here is entirely up to you. You're the one that controls the time in which your name will be called and you'll enter into the next room or walk down the hall to finally get whatever it is your here for over with and put behind you. 

It's an odd thing, this waiting room. Your thoughts seem to write themselves in the air and hang above your head with different colored text and wacky fonts all pertaining to the mood and tone of the thought being written. You can spread your thoughts out along the bland blue walls, change them around so they make sense, connect one to another, change the font, the color, the size, or just plain delete them. This room is for change. For serious contemplation. If you really wanted to you could make it bigger for those tougher problems. You could turn your thoughts into not only words but pictures or video clips. You can hang them from the ceiling or redo them with a fresh coat of paint or some markers. You can throw things away in the tiny waste basket in the corner near the door, which never ever fills up and there is a never ending supply of cool air steadily streaming in from the vent. It's all there for your convieniance. Even the pale walls. You can't think with too many other interesting things to look at. Sometimes you can get lost in this room. When your thoughts and pictures, video clips and string and markers, and scribbled out words and your own twisted heart sitting on the end table while the magazines are shoved under one of the chairs... It can all get confusing. But in the end you will eventually leave this room whether it be tomorrow or twenty years from now. 

And once you do you'll be the better.