"Tell 'bout the rabbits, George!"
I remember reading Of Mice And Men in school when I was sixteen. I really liked the novel, you know (I think I was the only one in the class.) We read through it a whole bunch of times to 'familiarize us with the text' and ever bloody time we read the ending I had to work so unbelievably hard to stop myself crying in front of thirty or so of my peers who I knew would ridicule me for it.
But anyway, it was the existence of the ranch hands that really distressed me - they'd work stupidly long hours all day long, six days a week and then on Saturday evening they'd go and blow it all on drink and whores... just so that the next week they could do the same again. That really made me sad, feel a great pain inside... how circular it was - existing for the sake of continuing to exist.
...but that's what it feels like I'm doing now, you know?
I go to work (work far more than I'm meant to) to come home so I can get drunk, go to bed early.. then go to work again. Then there's the weekends, but they seem to be taken up with me doing work for Uni and doing stupid chores around the house.
...and what if it's going to be like this the rest of my life? Fuck. I can't take an existence like this... it's suicide by tiny increments.
I find myself thinking of pensions and retirement. Fuck, I'm twenty years old.. I shouldn't be thinking of that kind of stuff. But what if that's all there is to life? Work your whole life in a haze, just killing time... then retire and try and do something fun with your life while you slowly die. Is that it?
All this would be fine, if this pointless cycle I spoke of... if you enjoy it.
Do I enjoy my job? Well I'm certainly driven to do it, to do it well, to push myself as hard as I can... but does that mean I enjoy it? Or is this just some narcissistic urge to prove myself best (even though the only person I'm even vaguely in competition with is at least ten years older than me and has a PHD behind him.)
Do I enjoy drinking? Well not really, I hate what it does to me... but it passes the time.
Do I enjoy anything?
I swear I seem to be falling dead. That might be the reason I'm pushing myself so hard - mentally, at work; physically, by cycling; emotionally, by cutting myself off from people and/or being horrible to them - it's all because I just want to feel something... something that's this numbing feeling of despair and self-hatred.
But anyway, it was the existence of the ranch hands that really distressed me - they'd work stupidly long hours all day long, six days a week and then on Saturday evening they'd go and blow it all on drink and whores... just so that the next week they could do the same again. That really made me sad, feel a great pain inside... how circular it was - existing for the sake of continuing to exist.
...but that's what it feels like I'm doing now, you know?
I go to work (work far more than I'm meant to) to come home so I can get drunk, go to bed early.. then go to work again. Then there's the weekends, but they seem to be taken up with me doing work for Uni and doing stupid chores around the house.
...and what if it's going to be like this the rest of my life? Fuck. I can't take an existence like this... it's suicide by tiny increments.
I find myself thinking of pensions and retirement. Fuck, I'm twenty years old.. I shouldn't be thinking of that kind of stuff. But what if that's all there is to life? Work your whole life in a haze, just killing time... then retire and try and do something fun with your life while you slowly die. Is that it?
All this would be fine, if this pointless cycle I spoke of... if you enjoy it.
Do I enjoy my job? Well I'm certainly driven to do it, to do it well, to push myself as hard as I can... but does that mean I enjoy it? Or is this just some narcissistic urge to prove myself best (even though the only person I'm even vaguely in competition with is at least ten years older than me and has a PHD behind him.)
Do I enjoy drinking? Well not really, I hate what it does to me... but it passes the time.
Do I enjoy anything?
I swear I seem to be falling dead. That might be the reason I'm pushing myself so hard - mentally, at work; physically, by cycling; emotionally, by cutting myself off from people and/or being horrible to them - it's all because I just want to feel something... something that's this numbing feeling of despair and self-hatred.