The air conditioners hum, the crickets chirp. The friction of tire against ashphalt whines by occasionally. The air follows suit with quiet thunder. There are a few stars visible in the sky. Many times I find myself looking at the sky knowing there are far more, longing to be removed from the urban environment to see them. Many generations of many cultures looked to the heavens for answers. They found a source of predictability in a somewhat random world. The sun always did what it was supposed to, as did the moon, planets and other stars. They collided in forecast patterns, blocking each other and creating celestial events. Erased with light pollution in unconscious denial.

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Clouds roll by as the sun-baked afternoon wanders towards evening. The cicadas are singing. The air conditioner diligently hums. Rubber stresses against ashphalt. Leaves dance in the subtle breeze. The brakes of a bus announce its arrival at the stop. Too often I use this setting in contemplation of what is wrong. Without work I have all the ammo in the world to justify feeling like less of a person. But things are right too, and they also deserve observance. Balance.

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A few stars are showing their existence again. Or is their presence an illusion of distance? Crickets. A train struggles past, moaning into the west. The air conditioner cracks back into service. The factory in the distance belches its metallic scrape. A motorcycle screams into the night. You either get it or you don’t. A siren drifts in on the breeze. With it the thoughts of work.

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A new day. My OT wants me to think about what I could do to volunteer. Something to start establishing a routine. Regularity when I’m coming from having an erratic schedule and unpredictable work routine feels counter-intuitive. I have assumed the outcome thus far, but it may not be what I intended. Maybe the future lays ahead of me after all. Maybe it’s a sign and not a challenge. A week from now I’ll be mentally preparing for a trip downtown on the train with my OT. If I’m being truthful I have already started to worry. It’s disorientingly busy down there. I’ll pack my rock and my hippie stink. I’ll remember to inhale slowly and deeply. One foot in front of the other.