Atlas, Staff Poet

Have you ever just stopped and stared at the ceiling? No particular prompting required. Just you and the ceiling sharing a moment in time. Existing simply in the several vertical feet between you. Perhaps you ponder life and all of its intricacies while you stare. Whether the person you like likes you back. When you’re going to have time to do that assignment that’s burning a hole in your backpack. Why people do the things that they do.

Maybe you do math as peer at the panels above. How many hours of sleep will you be able to get tonight if you go to bed at ten? How long is lunch and how much can you accomplish in the time allotted? How many dots are on that damn ceiling?

It is odd, isn’t it? That they poke holes in the ceiling? Why do they do that? I always end up wondering that myself, sitting and staring in my CSU class. Is there a set number of dots? If so, how did they decide on it? And who came up with it?

I suppose we’ll never really know. But it is something to wonder about.

The next time you stare, think about it all. The when, the why, the how. And then breathe. After all, it’s just a bunch of dots.