The Imagined Life

My life is by no means what one might consider ‘exciting’. Sometimes I’ll pretend it is- running across a busy street to make it look like I have something important to do, telling myself that something probably hangs by a thread and the only way for me to get there in time is to do irrationally stupid things. Of course- I guess this is true to a point, consider all the things we’ve missed in life simply by being there thirty seconds too late. I know that personally, I’ve missed plenty due to this unfortunate phenomenon. That last donut, held in reserve after an arduous meeting, only to be taken as seconds by someone else while I was too busy pretending I had a good reason for having my backpack with me.

Of course, sometimes, (when I start to feel shameful or get bored of placing myself in the imaginative, “I’m-super-mysterious-because-I-carry-my-backpack-around-everywhere-and-you-don’t-know-why” slot,) I find it fun to take a step back myself and wonder at the possibly clandestine missions of others. Perhaps the kid three rows up in a black shirt is actually a soviet spy, here to undermine the united states psychological state by existing with its volatile-minded teenagers in the hell-house commonly known as ‘high school’.

Now, this all might sound silly to you (though perhaps maybe you’ve found yourself in similar situations,) but there are just some things in life that overly-imaginative people like me just can’t ignore! Take for example, my backpack. Why do I wear it around everywhere? It’s certainly not because it’s comfortable, or because I can traffic illegal weapons and top secret information. In fact, the answer is much simpler than that. I carry my backpack around everywhere because it’s good to hold things in. Especially during winter when having to carry around a grocery bag after going shopping could mean frostbite in your fingers. Wearing my backpack around everywhere I go is simply a useful and convenient way for me to store and carry around things with me that I otherwise would have to leave elsewhere. I believe that in the case of an apocalypse, backpacks will be the new big thing. I mean- where better to store your anti-zombie warfare than in a bag that will always be close at hand?

Now, let’s examine the lives of other people. The usually innocent bystanders that people like me place in a shroud of mysterious potential. For instance, if that kid three rows up isn’t a clandestine soviet spy, then how come I have yet to hear him say anything? It could simply be because he is busy typing himself, that perhaps he’s just shy, or maybe that his frequent glances at me aren’t to try and implant psychic thoughts of Russian supremacy in my head- but rather a look to say, “stop frequently looking up at me, then back down at your computer screen to type. It’s making me nervous.” Or, maybe his reason for remaining silent is to hide his russian accent. Or because he can’t speak because he had his voice box removed at birth and that’s why he’s been such a valuable psychic to the soviet capital, because he’s had to speak psychically since birth and now he’s an expert at it.
Just food for thought.

-Cubie