24 Hours

There are always people connected to you that you don't actually know and never will, like the girl I only know because she hit my car in a parking lot. These are the people in some strange, unclassified category. They aren't friends, in fact they aren't truly acquaintances, but they aren't strangers. They are fewer than friends and certainly fewer than strangers. It is the strangers that predominantly fill my vision every day I sit here. I often envision myself making new friends, but I envision myself doing many things. Only last night I determined I would no longer be wasteful, just as I opened my new bottle of Crest mouthwash with fluoride to attempt to preserve my difficult to care for teeth. And the very next thing I did was waste some of it by pouring too much into the little cup and not being willing to pour it back into the bottle. I watched it go down the drain as I rinsed the cup, a minute amount of purple mixed in with the vaguely cold tap water, and I felt strangely guilty. I think it was more because of my inconsistency rather than the mouth wash, but I'm not entirely sure. I'm not entirely sure of many things. I am fairly sure though that my inconsistency is the only thing that is consistent. Just like the sign I watched this morning in the cafe. I watched the intermittent lights of the Open sign; it was facing outward, but I could see it reflected in the window. It flashed ceaselessly, but it was the most steady entity present, its pattern of change a reminder of constancy. Yet not everything constant is ideal. There are times still when I almost cry just because I have to eat my ice cream alone.