I fell into a footstep and I can’t get out

I’ve finally got my writing setup the way I thought I wanted it. I think I’ve been too choosy about the setup, making things harder for me because I never wanted to get started. I’m afraid that when you open the floodgates there’s no water, just a dried up used-to-be raging river that has become a pitiful flatbed of sun scorched earth. I’m afraid I’ve lost my voice. Maybe all this running through the maze at work has dulled the machines helping my dreams. I’m afraid what I have to say are more lies. I’ve made so many that I’m afraid they’ve become true through rote repetition. What if I’ve become a shell of my former self, a child stuck in my memories not a person changed through learning.

So I got up today and decided to figure things out. But I’m not going to use a checklist to do it. I’m going to let my mind wander. Before I typed this out I started something about ants so I guess I should get back to that and continue from there.

Wood grained

Maybe it’s because of my bad eyesight that I’ve always tried to put more attention into small visual details. I used to scan a ‘Where’s Waldo?’ book for hours, answering the questions that came with each panel. I used to make little stories that made the background of the little portions of the panels. I have never been successful in making a unified story for the whole panel because I’ve always been overwhelmed by all the things going on one of Waldo’s walks.

I have tried to think of one target of this attention to the miniscule in particular. Ants. Little buggers. Even if I’ve had my share of standing in the wrong patch of soil, the innocent victim to a swift attack on my ankles, I have not left them out of my imagination. As young as I was to first notice them and received explanation as to what they were, questions had formed in my mind and have never been answered. Bear with me, I was young.

We’ve all seen them walking around, carrying things or just moving around on their daily lives. I have always wanted to know. Do they have footprints? They may be small but I do not under estimate them one bit. I believe that a nuclear holocaust wipes us out, they would be left with the cockroaches to rule all. And at some point they would pull the rug out from under the roaches to become the final winner. Surely a creature so powerful, powerful enough to make larger beings in cement houses flee their domiciles from ant infestation, must leave a mark when they tread. In connection, do they ever trip on things? I do, even when sober. Okay, so maybe they have more legs and that should offer an obvious advantage to walking on two Nike’s. In fact we could ask, do they dance? All those feet and no compulsion to suddenly break into a lively jig? I think ants deserve to be silly once in a while. What with all the times they’ve been featured on the Discovery channel bolstering their image of hard work. To work hard, they must play hard.

When I got to high school I started computing. I was convinced that ants did trip on things, once in a while. And ants did party hard, once in a while. But for the unforeseen obstacle to be such a challenge to six legs, I wondered how much more potent ant moon juice is? Sucking on an aphids crack must deliver more. They must be on something to be able to carry many times their body weight without overthrowing whatever stands as a chain of command. It’s like keeping the masses happily drugged so that they keep going on with daily life regardless of all the crap that goes on around them.

Maybe it has something to do with the antennae. Maybe they are plugged into some sort of forced mass consciousness, a signal that keeps everything in check.

On screen I have a diligent editor, of the ants, seemingly checking things out as I type. I think he’s giving me a knowing nod. Wish I could tell which part he agrees with.