Wallflowering

The Pits (Literally and Figuratively)

An exercise in Wallflowering
(originally journalled in March 2018)

I’m sitting in a school cafeteria waiting for my son to complete his science olympiad event. I’m bored to death because parents cannot watch the competition. Something to do with distracting the kids and judges… I dunno. I have hours of free time to take advantage of so why not attempt to get some writing done? Supposedly there is wifi, but the connection is spotty, at best. I have to remind myself I don’t need wifi to write.

If I’d left my computer and notebooks at home, I guarantee you prolific prose would proceed to burst from my skull like Niagra friggin Falls as prolific prose tends to do when the opportunity to write is nonexistent. While driving and in the shower, to name a few. Alas… with time and instruments at my disposal, no flow of world-wonder proportion presents itself. No flow of any kind. Less than a faucet drip going on here. So I sit and do what other writers that I deem more important and more successful than I say to do. Just write something. Anything. I’ve decided to write everything I am thinking at this moment.

I’m a little leery of doing this because I am surrounded by people.
Hundreds. Maybe thousands (or close to it). 90% of them are elementary school students. Packed into a high school cafeteria, filling every inch of this place like helium into the cracks of a mylar balloon.
20 representatives from our school, including my son and I, sit at a table that seats at most 12. If I scoot my chair back one half an inch I will hit a person seated at the table behind me.
Isles between tables are non-existent as they are filled with sitting students, standing parents/teachers, or student siblings confined to strollers.

Children have no concept of personal space or any kind of boundaries.
They are completely oblivious to the obvious lack of elbow room.
The must be because they just S P R A W L. Like, everywhere.
With gadgets and jackets and (ugh) food. Crumby, sticky fingers on everything.
And they just take stuff… chairs, snacks, water bottles (opened or not) without asking and definitely without a “thank you.”
Heathens!
Oh… And then there’s the sneezing and the coughing and the burping, and (good god) the farting! I
’m sitting in a live petrie dish!
My dance space completely invaded.
Let’s not even talk about what possible decibel the noise level is in here… particularly on my right side.
If you are sitting next to each other, why is it you must YELL to have a conversation?
And if this little dude breaks wind one more friggin time…

They are on all sides of me.
So close that I’m squeezing in my elbows to sufficiently type.
I know they can see my screen and I wonder if they are reading what’s on it.
Yes, I am talking about you, little kid and if you can read this you are too friggin close to me… plus you stink! BEAT IT!
I swear I want to hose all of my possessions down with Lysol… including my son.

It’s crazy…
I both love and despise the existence of children, simultaneously.
Am I alone in this? I’m probably going to hell for saying it out loud as I’m sure it is against some motherly code.
My coffee intake was not sufficient for this endeavor.
I clearly shorted the landing on this one.

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