Although my life should mirror this eupeptic subterranean cycle of life, my brain chemistry will no longer allow it.
Long gone are the days of dazed commuting. Riding in tubes under the earth's surface. Walking amidst the rest of the financial district lemmings, without the slightest chance of missing the fresh air portal formerly known as the World Trade Center.
Gone too is the desire to kiss just one more self-important ass on the way to the top of the lower middle eschelon of some gigantic multinational megacorporation.
I'm now locked in the freedom of my own soul. Bound to the whimsy of my own thoughts. Having already outlived Buddy Holly and Elvis, I wonder if my candle has been snuffed by the apathy of my earthmates.
How much longer will I have to endure the ever-present butface of society. How many more raspberry mocha lattes are in my path?
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3 comments:
wow. deep. i'm not a english-speaker, but i liked it.
Mmmm... raspberry mocha latte... now that almost sounds better than my hazelnut cream!! LOL! And while I'm not an english-speaker either, but rather a gibberish-mumbler at best, I thank you for your comment on my post, and the lovely follow-up thought offered here. Happy 4th of July, my friend! Love, K.
I wallow in my envy of the aforementioned freedom of your soul, with every second that I must endure the body odor of my fellow commuters, every clanging of my office phone and cringe-inducing jingle of incoming email, both inevitably bearing miserable tidings of increased workload, whilst my colleagues sleep and surf their workday away, and glare at me with obvious distaste when I point out their distinct lack of work-ethic. So I sit here on my Buddy Holly filled, wine accompanied Saturday afternoon, with whimsical ruminations of one day finally being able to work from the comfort of my colorful and welcoming home office, complete with artwork, incense and candles. I dream, here, henceforth, of working in my pajamas.
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