Ellsworth Kelly. Red/Blue. 1964.

In no particular hurry, the blob threw itself against the side of the lava lamp, and then rebounded just as slowly, bumping into several other shapeless shapes. It almost said, “Excuse me,” but reminded itself it wasn’t necessary. Such was the nature of their lives: hurtling through the thick of it and boomeranging back and forth, up and down, flinging themselves into one another without direction. If you could even call their "lives" "lives," but anyway.

The blob elongated, stretching high while sinking low, and split into two, all while wondering why. What compelled it? What inspired it? What prompted it to do the things it did? What was the end game? It all felt so pointless.

But it didn’t always feel that way. Sometimes the blob was on the mission, perhaps to reach the top of the lamp and then the bottom in the span of five minutes, or to merge and morph with another globule. Why? Oh, it didn’t know, really; it just helped the time pass. And sometimes the blob truly had fun, bouncing around, letting itself be taken in whatever direction its density dictated.

The blob figured it was just in a mood today. The feeling happened sometimes, like when it didn’t feel like moving but had to, or was forced to unite and work with another wax bubble when it just wanted to be left alone. As the blob continued to ricochet off one glass wall and then another, it reminded itself of the moment’s transience, as well as its own. It was just temporary, it was just passing. The blob mustered up some energy and joined with another globbie with enthusiasm. Might as well try to like it.

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