a comment i left on a tourist's blog

Sometimes I wonder.

I wonder what your blog would be like if you spent more time on it. It's clear you have some really interesting thoughts. It's also clear that you don't spend very much time on your blog.

I wonder if fire is aware of itself.

I wonder if God is thinking of me right now.

I wonder if my sore throat is just a cold or something more.

I wonder if cancer will be around forever.

I wonder if cancer is aware of itself.

I wonder what it would be like to be in high school these days. With all the cell phones and internets and snap chats and social media. I wonder if I would've had a lot of "friends."

I wonder how the White Elephant Blog Project is going to go.

I wonder if you even know about it.

I wonder if I would be different if I was born black.

I wonder if I would still exist if my dad never met my mom. Maybe I would still exist, but I would just look different.

I wonder if you're still reading this comment.

I wonder how I could write more in this comment than you've written on your entire blog, yet that doesn't bother you at all.

I wonder if I take it too easy on students.

I wonder if I don't.

I wonder how things would've been different if I would've accepted the Hunter High School job instead of the Lone Peak job.

I wonder if my second oldest son has asthma.

I wonder if my oldest son knows his little brother is better than him at basketball.

I wonder if Spotify is really bad for the music business.

I wonder what the temperature is on the moon right now.

I wonder what you're doing right now. What class do you have 4th period? Are you paying attention? Is the teacher just rambling on or is the teacher sitting back at his desk in another world? Does that teacher like his job? Or does he wonder where his life went wrong?

I wonder if my life has gone wrong, or if I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

I wonder why my wife doesn't love poetry as much as I do.

I wonder if Santa is going to bring us a damn cat this Christmas. I hope not. (But secretly I hope he does. I mean, I love cats. I've written poems about cats. I've cried over a cat. I've had a cat stare into my soul and made me question the true nature of God and his creations. So if Santa happens to bring us a cat, sure, I won't enjoy the little turd pissing all over the house, and I won't enjoy the hairballs and the kitty litter remnants, but I think there's room in my heart.)

I wonder if you're still reading or if you've moved on with your life.

I wonder if you've even seen this at all.

I wonder if it matters. I wonder if anything matters. I wonder if my mom is thinking of me right now.

Thanks for reading.

distractions

I write poems when I don't have words for how I feel. And I need poetry now more than ever.

We stare at Google Earth on our computers, but we don't see the world clearly. It keeps turning and turning and downtown there are crazy people everywhere. Crazy people with no monthly payments, talking to themselves on street corners. Crazy people who've never been to a psychiatrist. I'm sure there's desperation in their eyes, but I'm always too afraid to look. 

My contacts are burning right now anyway.

The bell is ringing, but I'm sitting in my living room and my kids are asleep upstairs. The bell is ringing, but class doesn't start for 10 hours. Maybe they messed up Daylight Savings Time. Maybe we're trying to turn the clocks back to see what else we could've saved.   Maybe they never really could save time or daylight or anything.

I'm down to 8% battery on this laptop, and that's how life feels sometimes. But I promise, I swear, the plug is in the next room. I know it is.

My daughter asked why all the horses were getting rained on and I didn't have an answer. My wife said something about the barn being locked, but I was too busy trying to listen to the score of the Steelers game. We all need distractions to keep us happy.

Now that one season's over, I just need another distraction. The leaves keep falling and it's not winter yet, but it feels like it. We've been breathing in and out for months, but only now can you actually see our breath.