Omphaloskepsis

Omphaloskepsis means
contemplation of one's navel as an aid to meditation;

thus says Wikipedia.

Mine's mostly filled with lint.

Usually.

What doth such bespeak of me?

Calling the Poison Control Center

isn't nearly as scary as I guess I had assumed it would be.

After an accidental gulp of some gargled 

Hydrogen peroxide,

My wife said 

I would be fine,

But I called anyway,

Just to be sure,

Because that's what it said to do

On the bottle.

It rang a few times longer

Than what seemed right

For an emergency number,

And then it sounded like the

... what would you call her...

Emergency receptionist

Just woke up

Either from a nap at her cubicle

Or from her bed as her telecommuted day began

A bit earlier than she expected.

Her tone wasn't exactly what I would call
"urgent"
But I suppose that could be because
She gets more calls
From people like me
Than from people with actual emergencies,
(The ratio of which
Would definitely be
An interesting avenue of investigation).

I certainly felt comforted after she told me
I'd probably have no problems
(At which my wife exulted)
And would, at worst, vomit,
Which I didn't.

If only there were such a number to call
And such a kind voice to come to my aid,
And if only it were socially acceptable,
Perhaps even a societal expectation,
(much like calling any emergency number is)
To dial up a complete stranger
And chat about any of life's mishaps or tragedies
In order to know what to do.

Family and friends are nice
For listening and advice, of course,
But wouldn't an unknown & unattached
Professional
Be much more legitimate, knowledgable, and trustworthy
to our minds, for whatever reason? 

Beating the Line

How often

does it happen

that you're not the last one

in line,

but rather
the one 

who actually beats 

the crowd?

Well today,

I am that man.

Not once,

But thrice over,

I have beat the crowd

And been first in line,

Only to see it grow behind me.

I wish I knew

How it was done -

How to pre-empt

Where everyone else was going

And 

What everyone else was doing

And do it so effortlessly

As to avoid disrupting my schedule,

Though it would 

Inevitably

Delay theirs.

And I guess that's how it is -

The law of the line jungle:

Somebody will be there first,

And most people will have to wait,

And, hopefully, someone will be that

Kind-hearted person

(Like the one I met at Aldi last week)

Who sees your meager fist of groceries

Is nothing compared to her pack-muled cart

And let's you go ahead.

Or perhaps that kind-hearted someone 

Will be the one who sees your heavy load

of groceries, toiletries, house wares, doodads, and

Screaming child

And let's you go first

Because,

Though she only has bread and milk,

She also actually does have all day.

Or, perhaps, that kind-hearted someone
Will simply make the standing and waiting in line
Just a bit more tolerable. 

And though we ultimately can't control

If we're the one who's first

Or the one who has to wait,

At least the kind-hearted part

Is always an option.

So I guess 
that's what I wish 
I knew:
How to be 
that kind-hearted someone,
the appropriate one for the situation.

I hope
I will be that man
Tomorrow
And do so
Thrice over.

Our Neighbor's TV

is always on,
it seems,
for we can see it through
our kitchen's windows.

Whether we're waking
at 7am
or 5:30
or 3,
it always seems to be on.

And in the afternoon or evening,
at sundry times and every season,
it's on.

Well, I guess there are
actually some times
when it's off,

But it strikes me as
probably sad
regardless.