Bridge to nowhere

Writing about the day's events is near impossible, only because my days are so very uninteresting. Like what should I write about? Nothing interesting happens in the engineering world. We design bridges and infrastructure so that the greater community can function in the way that it does, however when one begins to examine the events behind the making of said infrastructure, there really is nothing of any interpersonal interest that can be argued or extrapolated. There is no meaningful illustration of the human condition that can be drawn. For the better part of the day I sit in front a screen connecting dots into a depiction of how to possibly build a structure like a bridge, but it is boring. The only real metaphysical insight that may be drawn from such disinterest, is something someone once jestingly said, "build a bridge and get over it!" And that's what we do, build bridges so that people can get over them.

On a technical level, bridges present themselves as interesting structures to detail but if I were at all creative, I could investigate the physical symbolism of the forces and the agents of nature working against the design, something akin to the epic struggle between good and evil. However, in the quest for balance, it is Newton's third law of motion which at the end of each day, maintains the state of equilibrium that we take for granted. Perhaps it is this law, which states that "for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction" that subdues the agents that work with such laws into a dry and uneventful environment, that is the design office. Tis true that on rare occasion this equilibrium is pushed into an erratic state, when deadlines are tight and tempers frayed and someone snaps, but surely it is a cold day in hell when such entertaining displays are revealed.

So I struggle and wrestle to make sense of this world with such limited material available to me. The resultant force of such depravity is that I'm often left feeling rather cold and numb. Perhaps this other world or alternate reality that the office represents is truly where the heart of the human condition is. We spend the better part of our lives in such enclosures and surely it resembles a zoo to the alien life which transverse through strings that criss cross our fabric of reality into the multiverse of unseen realism. Perhaps it is why we are here, for the amusement of travelers that shield themselves from our insanity.