It's Too Early For Spring Cleaning.

Time: 10:04am
Mood: Worried.
Music: Sunday Morning After - Amanda Marshall
Current thoughts: I'm rather bored. No one is up. Why the hell can I not sleep that long too?


Swish, swish, swish, swish. It is the sound of the broom as it slides gracelessly across the floor. Dust particles fly askew, some of them towards me, other's in their intended pile, and the last bit still eluding the broom by staying behind on the floor. For each dust particle there is a different fate. The ones that become airborn, that fly up towards me, are either destined to remain floating in the air until a gentle wind places them beyond the reach of my broom, or they are destined to give me allergies, as they have found a lovely resting spot within my nasal cavity. Then there are the particles in the pile. These dust particles could go anywhere, but first they journey to the dustpan, then to the garbage, then to the curb, then to the truck and then to the dump. Their route is slightly more concrete. Once they get to the dump it is up to fate. They can either be blown away in the wind, because of course the bag has ripped, or they can join the ground along with the decomposing trash. The last dust particles are the ones that eluded the broom and rested behind on the floor. These may get stepped upon, kicked, tracked around the house, and then swept up a week later. That is the way it works.

We are dust. Some of us are lucky and are destined to float upon the wind until we find out comfortable niche. Some of us are destined to rot with the rest of the trash upon the planet, and those of us who are unlucky get beaten to shit before we get to rot with the rest of the trash. We are all under a constant broom called the economy. You see, the floaters are the lucky ones. They're the ones who float (because someone is funding them) until they find their niche. That means essentially to use layman's speak, they're the rich kids. This is how our world works. The rich get off easy, while those of us who are less monetarily privileged get left behind to rot. It's a very sad reality. There are those who simply accept their role as the decaying flesh of the world. These are the kids who live in poverty in underprivileged countries. They know that because of where they live, and because of their governement and because of who they are, that they can't really get up from here. So they don't try. They work damn hard to survive without the money that everyone is after. Then there are the ones that get beaten up because they tried. This is the dust that managed to elude the broom for a short amount of time.

This is my role.

I am the dust that managed to sneak under the broom and not get swept away, but I'm still lying on the floor. I'm getting kicked around and beaten up and I'm scared, because I know that broom is coming back to get me. That's how it works. The broom will always come to get me. How many times can I elude it and stay on the floor? Am I going to be able to catch a breeze next time? Or am I going to the dump with the rest of the decaying flesh of the world? I don't know.

The only reason I'm saying this is because I find the comparaison odd yet somehow accurate. I mean, what if we really are just dust? What if we're just a tiny speck the broom hasn't noticed yet? Our entire universe is that speck the broom hasn't noticed yet. We're so small.

How can one person matter?