I think I finally understand what Samuel Beckett was thinking when he wrote "Waiting for Godot." After waiting in line for what feels like hours (but ends up really just being a minute or two), I end up thinking about the dumbest things, and start to question my existence. Time becomes relative, and my thoughts start to consume me. I start to wonder why I'm waiting in line in the first place, and wonder if I really need to be here. I wonder if there is anything else I could be doing, instead of standing in order with a bunch of other human beings (hopefully), lined up like a bunch of cows to the slaughter. Why am I here? What am I doing here? Where is here? Is there even a "here"?
Eventually, the person in front of my orders their frappa-thingy, and I can purchase my iced tea.
Ever wonder why we're always in such a hurry to go nowhere? We speed down the street, passing up cars so we can be the first person at the stop sign? We spend so much time looking for the shortest check out lane at the grocery store, but we always end up at the same place anyway.
"Be still, and know that I am God;..." -Psalms 46:10
