Contrarian Pseudo Babble: A Play With No Parts

 

PROLOGUE:

[An encounter outside the Katywonkered Cafe’]

ACT I

THE PHILOSOPHER:
Before setting off on a voyage, the pagans gather for a feast. The mind vomits forth … and none are saved.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:
So, where are we off to?

THE CYNIC:
Lord only knows. No where fast from what I can see.

THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Well, that’s a great attitude to have. Don’t you have a plan?

THE CYNIC:
What do you think I sit around plotting my every step?

THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Planning. You mean planning your every step.

THE CYNIC:
Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Who cares! Let’s just get on with it, then.

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I think, therefore I am distracted.

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More than occasionally, I get distracted by things I take more than a passing interest in. I’m working and then somehow “tele-pathetically”, my attention and thoughts have been teleported to some obscure webpage which I micromanage my way through. It just takes one stray thought to hijack my stream of consciousness. It could be about something trivial I read in the news that morning, or something profound I thought about the day before, or even something ethereal I dreamed about … or daydreamed about. Whatever it is, I pursue this new found interest with behemoth vehemence, almost as if I’m championing some cause.

It could be, I think, a coping mechanism of some sorts that I inherited genetically from my father. You see, he was a real estate appraiser, and a reformed mathematician. Half the day he spent driving around different neighborhoods looking at “comparables” (houses that had previously sold) and trying hard not to look like he was casing said neighborhoods for a future home invasion scheme. The other half of the day he would write up his appraisal reports: monotonous long and short forms to be completed with data and figures that mortgage lenders would eventually rip borrowers off with. When completing such forms, my father needed distraction to break up the stress of monotony. If at home or at the office, he’d listen to talk or sports radio. Usually though, he liked to sit at busy places so he could  look up at the all the hustle and bustle and watch people and the world go by. Really! You’d find him sitting at a mall, at the airport, in a hotel lobby, etc. Had Starbucks been around when he was working he most likely would have been a fixture. He had an active mind… so he needed distraction. I’m pretty much the same way … (pensive pregnant pause entered here) … though most likely due to the raging modicum of my mom in me as well, I fear that a small part of my willingness and penchant to be distracted might also betray a much needed break from reality.

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