Thursday, September 12, 2013

sometimes

Sometimes, all I want to do is write. But then I sit down, and I realize that we're all the same. Every last one of us. We wake up, and we fill our coffee mugs, and look outside before we decide what to wear. Khakis today.
<p>
Bathroom, shower, brush teeth, come hair, remind yourself: Don't forget to put on deodorant.
<p>
Oatmeal packet? Check. Work badge? Check? Phone? Keys? Wallet? Check. Check. Check.
<p>
Then you're out the door, into the wild world of concrete forrest. Magma highways leading to places we travel every day, but crave nothing more than to get away from. The metal cages we buckle ourselves into for our daily commutes, and then...
<p>
The cubicles.
<p>
Your three-walled-home for fifty hours a week. That comfy ergonomic chair that has flattened your ass so much that every time you see those J-Lo jeans in the department store, you're instantly disappointed. The dual monitors; your eyes into the world. A world full of Excel and Outlook reminders, and needy, complaining, numb-skulls every bit as drained and numb as yourself.
<p>
These are the roles we assign ourselves. The Normal Life.
<p>
You grow up, you get a job, you buy a house, get married, have kids, and pay for it all-- until one day, you die.
<p>
Those are the rules.
<p>
And if you don't-- well then, you're an outcast. And you'll never amount to anything. (Whatever that means.)
<p>
The thing is: we're all fucked. That's what it comes down to. We're all brainwashed into thinking that if we don't follow the plan, we're a failure. And that something bad will happen to us, or we wont be happy. But we're not happy because we're all so bored following this plan that we might as well try something different for a change.
<p>