I sat today and "people watched." I saw a lot of different type of people. Some in a hurry, some not sure of themselves, some still sleeping it appeared. I love to look at people and determine their life story, or their story for that day, that hour, or event that minute. You can tell a lot about a person if you pay close attention to details.
Like the girl today in the waiting room at the Psychiatric office. It was raining outside, but it was very warm. She was wearing a jacket. A jacket that still had the lift pass ticket on the zipper from the last time she wore it to go skiing. I noticed her right off the bat because she was the only one wearing a jacket. Then, I very quickly noticed that she was wearing a pair of blue jeans, and flip flops. Now, tell me, where is the logic in that. It poured down the rain this morning and she was wearing a jacket to keep dry, but a pair of flip flops. The bottoms of her jeans were wet. The denim had turned dark blue. I quickly wondered what her choice of shoes for the day had said about her. I ran out of time to draw my conclusion, as my name was called.
Anyway, I know I am not the only person who enjoys watching other people. It is very amusing to come up with their "story." I can't help but walk around today wondering how many people are trying to make up my story. How well can they size me up. Do they see who I really am? Do they see the girl trapped inside this smiling face? Do they see my pain, my constant torment? Do they think they know my story?
Like the girl today in the waiting room at the Psychiatric office. It was raining outside, but it was very warm. She was wearing a jacket. A jacket that still had the lift pass ticket on the zipper from the last time she wore it to go skiing. I noticed her right off the bat because she was the only one wearing a jacket. Then, I very quickly noticed that she was wearing a pair of blue jeans, and flip flops. Now, tell me, where is the logic in that. It poured down the rain this morning and she was wearing a jacket to keep dry, but a pair of flip flops. The bottoms of her jeans were wet. The denim had turned dark blue. I quickly wondered what her choice of shoes for the day had said about her. I ran out of time to draw my conclusion, as my name was called.
Anyway, I know I am not the only person who enjoys watching other people. It is very amusing to come up with their "story." I can't help but walk around today wondering how many people are trying to make up my story. How well can they size me up. Do they see who I really am? Do they see the girl trapped inside this smiling face? Do they see my pain, my constant torment? Do they think they know my story?