Train Wreck

What seems to be most terrifying of a train wreck is the inevitability by which it happens. It isn’t like a car accident, where the movements are spontaneous and fluid. Car accidents can be avoided by swerving to the side of the road, perhaps trading major damages for minor ones.

When I picture a train wreck, the stereotypical image I get is of two trains chugging full speed at each other because of a silly switch error made maybe 200 kilometers ago. But it doesn’t matter, because somehow two trains are in the same track, going in opposite directions. Crash is imminent.

What’s worse is that the people on the train can probably see the death and destruction that is coming ahead. They might try to get the engineer to pull the breaks as hard as s/he can, but it is no use. There is no escape from death here. The tracks are too forbidding.

I stand outside all of this, watching frame by frame as deadlines and due dates pile up. Sometimes, no matter how much I chug away at my stack of work, the readings never end. The vectors seem to multiply. The soliloquies go on for an eternity. The essays don’t have an end, nor a middle, nor a beginning.

I’ve gotta just separate myself out from all of this and try harder in slamming those breaks on, or else be ready to pick myself up from the rubble.


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