I’m distracted today.
Not that it’s a rare occurrence for me to feel some of blockage to the attention-paying portion of my brain (I believe it’s the attention cortex). I’m from the MTV generation, so naturally I haven’t paid full attention to anything, in, well, probably in forever (unless my wife asks, in which case, I constantly pay attention, especially while she is talking to me).
To make things worse, I sit by a window at work. Outside of this window, right there in plain daylight, there is construction being done.
It’s very hard to get things done when you have to stop every few minutes and watch the bulldozer move dirt.
While a fascination with any sort of machine that moves is natural as a child, as an adult you are supposed to grow out of it along with your desire to be an astronaut and your refined taste in boogers.
The gentlemen reading this (And some girls, too. I’m not sexist.) know exactly what I am talking about. When you’re a kid, you watch cars and play with trains all of the time. If you don’t have a Matchbox car, you turn something else into a car. You spend hours perfecting the sound of all types of engines, much like a hunter practices their animal calls.
These cars are played with for hours, even by the kids with no attention span. They usually crash, which, as an adult, I don’t recommend, but they represent one of the top forms of child entertainment, right after screaming and throwing things. In fact, sometimes it turns into all three.
Now, though, I am old enough to drive a car myself. It isn’t that fun. In fact, I almost feel it is my duty to walk up to every kid I see playing with a toy car and tell them, “Enjoy it now. When you grow up, it becomes a chore. Also, you have to buy gas.”
I wish I had been warned. Up until the time I had a car, I wanted a car. When I got one, I found out the unfortunate truth: cars are basically giant metal thieves, constantly stealing money from you.
Since then, I’ve spent a fair amount of time driving. Aside from the time spent in Driver’s Ed, when you are so terrified to do anything in a car that even the action of turning on the blinker can give you an adrenaline rush, driving is very boring.
Despite this truth, occasionally I find myself watching transportation like a child.
Maybe I’m immature. Maybe I’m clinging onto my childhood. Maybe I couldn’t focus on what I’m actually supposed to being doing, even if I had a gun held to my head (Actually, I would probably have a harder time focusing if I had a gun to my head. The threat of death is, most likely, very distracting.).
Who knows what the case is?
I don’t really care why, in all honesty. I will be a kid as long as I want to be. When I’m in a retirement home someday, there is a very real chance I will turn one of my pills into a tiny car and drive it all over my room, like a little kid. Maybe I’ll even stare out the window at some construction being done.
It’s guaranteed to be more entertaining than actually driving.