Finding the Path

My day started out with the news of this bullshit secessionist crap and has gone on to contain way too many errant inter-species bodily fluids. I was working up to a pretty shitty mood until I headed out to work and found myself gaining on a young man and his skateboard. His progress was slow, at best. His mother was somehow retaining her good humor but she was a solid half block ahead of him. See, he was no more than 6 years old and he hadn't mastered changing direction while in motion. He'd put one foot on the board and muster a push or two with his other foot to gain sometimes as much as 6 or 8 inches before it became clear that he was headed straight for a tree or a fence or the curb. Off he'd come, having to bend over and meticulously adjust his skateboard placement. Sometimes it would take 3 or 4 adjustments before he was satisfied. Then plant one foot, a couple of pushes, the shortest of glides and another narrowly avoided disaster. He was a patient one, though, always willing to hop off and reset for better results. Oh, and did I mention that he was talking the whole time? Tongue never stopped wagging. I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying but his mother couldn't force a word in to move him along. Even in a bad mood I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that I was watching a living, blabbing metaphor for my questionably effective approach to life.

Thanks, kid. Hope you got where you were going.