Working like this you feel as though you could sleep for days, An endless cycle of sleep, work, what am I doing, and do it again. Up to my eye balls in debt. I am working for a clean slate. I am working for a dream. I am failing at every turn. This constant cycle doesn’t produce any results on either front. Not happy at work. I don’t care. Spinning in place and digging a hole so deep that no matter how much or how hard I work I am going nowhere. The how much and how hard of the constant digging has left me drained. When am I to write if all I want to do is die? What do I have to say when all I do is work? The world is passing me by, thoughts are passing me by, and my own grave surrounds me.
I dream of another life. A life with a different outcome, a different family, and yet I would die without the family and life I have. It is a constant sadness, another brick, insert the song in a cheesy nostalgic slow chant. I feel it as though I always have and I always will. One more heavy piece of earth. Another foot in the grave. No matter what I am fighting something, myself. There is this idea that we write our own stories and this is false in so many ways. The people around us write our stories, predict what we are to say, and hold us down. But where is the beginning? Are we always in the middle until the end?
There is no structure to this linear existence. It all makes no sense, has no reason, and in the end no point. Reflecting on it useless. Fighting useless. Going with it a waste of time and effort. No one wants to be a sheep, but the world can’t run on wolves. Though it seems at every turn it does. I miss the days when none of this mattered. I have no idea when all of it started to either. The idea of being an adult makes no sense at all. I’ve been told I am immature and maybe I am. Maybe I give a fuck about all the wrong things. Maybe in my trap I have lost faith in who I am, who I have become. We are all pieces of something or somebody else. We feed off those around us, but if we have no one around us what do we become? Throw in a lack of sleep for good measure and I am working my way to becoming something horrendous. A monster without a face or a soul. Embrace the change I suppose, but what then? I don’t know anymore. I’ve been swinging so long that all I do is swing. I don’t care what I hit. All I know is that when I finally connect I want them to feel like shit. To feel the way that I do.
It’s four in the morning. I can never sleep at normal times. All the time in the world to write and all I want to do is cry. Waste what little silent time I have. Maybe I want to fail just so I can have something to bitch about. I’m succumbing to the old man cliché of nothing is good enough, but I have in no way tried to make it better. Bliss of ignorance if only I wasn’t watching the train wreck happen while sitting at the wheel. Though when the wheel is jammed what else am I to do? Fix it? Fuck you think this is?
Life is strange in the way that it plays out. When you are young you need structure, but all you have are dreams. When you are old all you need is a dream, but all you have is structure. Work, family, society, and so on in an endless excuses for existence. We are taught not to mess with any of them or bad things will happen. We place restrictions on everything. Drown ourselves in rules while forgetting that messing with these structures is why we are here. From fire to food if we didn’t step out of line we’d have no civilization.
In America we fear religious extremists and rebel forces. Yet the first settlers of our nation were religious extremist and this nation founded by rebels. We wrote the book on freedom, but don’t want anyone to read it. We are willing to recite passages, but the context is almost always lost. We rattled the fuck out of the structures around us at the time. Changing the course of history forever, but we to have slipped into the old ways. We have moved past our adolescent days and grown old. Compliance breeds boredom and boredom spells out problems. This shit is going to burn and it is a matter of when and not why anymore. Sad to be a part of this. To live now in this world. With all our advancements we struggle with our own morality as we always have. Taking a look around we never needed any of this shit, but we wanted it. I know what I want, but do I need it? Am I spinning in place with everyone else for no reason at all? Could I give up digging or will I just die?
This was something that I wrote for my next novel that I am still working on called Fuck, I Hate It Here. It is a piece of fat that I enjoy, but doesn’t really move the novel forward. Didn’t want to not use it,… So there won’t be a new segment called Fuck, I Hate It Here but there maybe more that I won’t use that I want to share…