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Another day at the workplace, another dawn and dusk thrown onto the pile known as "life".
Yet another day had passed and he achieved nothing, connected with nobody, changed nothing in his world.
He woke up as usual, got dressed and ate his breakfast. He actually did this according to a clock.
It was 7:30am, time to make a cup of tea.
Pathetic, he measured his life by a clock. He didn't obey his feelings, he just knew it was time to get dressed, time to eat, time to leave the house, time to reach work.
There were times when he almost caught sight of himself in one of those big plastic balls that he ran his pet in when he small and he spent time like it mattered.
He looked in the mirror.
Could he tell when he aged? He looked the same as yesterday, but he always though that each morning, couldn't see the notches in the calender but he sure as hell looked different than when he was a kid.
At what point did he surrender his lust for life and replace it with this routine of living by moments on a clock?
He felt like a bus, always due somewhere at a certain time. Work, lunch, home, didn't matter, he just knew he ran to a timetable.
This was being an adult? This was being responsible? It seemed that being "in the real world" meant you spent as much time as possible trying to recapture moments of fantasy.
What was it his teachers had told him? "Must try harder" Harder at what? He had the subjects they taught down, he knew his math and his geography.
Try harder at what?
He saw lines of kids being processed into schools. Inquisitive, eager minds always asking questions and poking at the things around them.
He then saw lines of callow youths exit the other side, no longer asking questions like "How" and "Why".
Instead they all "worked harder" and were "more productive".
Time to leave the hutch he called home.
But that seemed to be another lie he made himself believe in for his own sanity.
"Home is where the heart is", wasn't that the saying? His heart wasn't here.
Home to him were evenings with loved ones, secure and warm against the monsters in the closet and wolves at the door. This wasn't home, this was a storage facility for the times he wasn't at work being "more productive".
He had the nice things, those modern solutions for life that took all the effort from his time. His fridge made ice-cubes, his tv could programme itself to the stations he wanted so it flicked over without him even needing to lift a finger to press the button.
All he had to do is sit and be entertained. So why was it so difficult?
Get "home" from work, eat something quick and easy to forget then sit on the nice enviromentally friendly sofa and stare at the television as it filled him with images of happy people "going for it" and "being who they want to", then sleep and start it all again.
He had always been told "you don't fit" or "You act strange" when he never wanted to spend time with most people.
He watched them and it confused him, seeing people desperately orbiting each other, unwilling to say what they felt. They engaged in this ritual of mating-dance that neither were particularly good at or interested in, but they did it anyway because they lacked simple honesty.
He had tried this before to "fit in" but found it funny.
He stood at the bar and sipped a drink, watching people nervously pretending to ignore everyone else. Occasionally someone would approach a couple of women, ask one for a dance and she would accept. This would leave her friend looking at the floor and trying to hide that look of unhappiness that she hadn't been asked.
He didn't get it.
Once a woman had asked him for a dance and he had asked why. She looked confused, then tried to hide her embarassment with anger. He just laughed and walked out.
He had girlfriends in the past, but he didnt play the games. He couldn't pretend to act hurt or upset when he had done nothing but be honest, and they soon tired of trying to "change" him and left.
Which was fine by him, the less people that noticed his drift through the aftermath of his life the better.
He felt like a bystander in some bizarre crash. He was fascinated but repelled at the same time. He saw himself behaving exactly like everyone else, and he knew it was lame but couldnt do anything else.
Ah well, no time for that now anyway, it's 8:15am and time to drive to his workstation.
Sometimes he lost whole mornings in a fugue, which was fine because he wasn't exactly sure what he did there. People stopped asking him years ago and he stopped asking.
Yet another day had passed and he achieved nothing, connected with nobody, changed nothing in his world.
He woke up as usual, got dressed and ate his breakfast. He actually did this according to a clock.
It was 7:30am, time to make a cup of tea.
Pathetic, he measured his life by a clock. He didn't obey his feelings, he just knew it was time to get dressed, time to eat, time to leave the house, time to reach work.
There were times when he almost caught sight of himself in one of those big plastic balls that he ran his pet in when he small and he spent time like it mattered.
He looked in the mirror.
Could he tell when he aged? He looked the same as yesterday, but he always though that each morning, couldn't see the notches in the calender but he sure as hell looked different than when he was a kid.
At what point did he surrender his lust for life and replace it with this routine of living by moments on a clock?
He felt like a bus, always due somewhere at a certain time. Work, lunch, home, didn't matter, he just knew he ran to a timetable.
This was being an adult? This was being responsible? It seemed that being "in the real world" meant you spent as much time as possible trying to recapture moments of fantasy.
What was it his teachers had told him? "Must try harder" Harder at what? He had the subjects they taught down, he knew his math and his geography.
Try harder at what?
He saw lines of kids being processed into schools. Inquisitive, eager minds always asking questions and poking at the things around them.
He then saw lines of callow youths exit the other side, no longer asking questions like "How" and "Why".
Instead they all "worked harder" and were "more productive".
Time to leave the hutch he called home.
But that seemed to be another lie he made himself believe in for his own sanity.
"Home is where the heart is", wasn't that the saying? His heart wasn't here.
Home to him were evenings with loved ones, secure and warm against the monsters in the closet and wolves at the door. This wasn't home, this was a storage facility for the times he wasn't at work being "more productive".
He had the nice things, those modern solutions for life that took all the effort from his time. His fridge made ice-cubes, his tv could programme itself to the stations he wanted so it flicked over without him even needing to lift a finger to press the button.
All he had to do is sit and be entertained. So why was it so difficult?
Get "home" from work, eat something quick and easy to forget then sit on the nice enviromentally friendly sofa and stare at the television as it filled him with images of happy people "going for it" and "being who they want to", then sleep and start it all again.
He had always been told "you don't fit" or "You act strange" when he never wanted to spend time with most people.
He watched them and it confused him, seeing people desperately orbiting each other, unwilling to say what they felt. They engaged in this ritual of mating-dance that neither were particularly good at or interested in, but they did it anyway because they lacked simple honesty.
He had tried this before to "fit in" but found it funny.
He stood at the bar and sipped a drink, watching people nervously pretending to ignore everyone else. Occasionally someone would approach a couple of women, ask one for a dance and she would accept. This would leave her friend looking at the floor and trying to hide that look of unhappiness that she hadn't been asked.
He didn't get it.
Once a woman had asked him for a dance and he had asked why. She looked confused, then tried to hide her embarassment with anger. He just laughed and walked out.
He had girlfriends in the past, but he didnt play the games. He couldn't pretend to act hurt or upset when he had done nothing but be honest, and they soon tired of trying to "change" him and left.
Which was fine by him, the less people that noticed his drift through the aftermath of his life the better.
He felt like a bystander in some bizarre crash. He was fascinated but repelled at the same time. He saw himself behaving exactly like everyone else, and he knew it was lame but couldnt do anything else.
Ah well, no time for that now anyway, it's 8:15am and time to drive to his workstation.
Sometimes he lost whole mornings in a fugue, which was fine because he wasn't exactly sure what he did there. People stopped asking him years ago and he stopped asking.
*prints*
Thats going in my planner...
Thats going in my planner...
Life's too precious it seems for some, to just hold out their hand for a second, to say "hey, I knew what it was like... climb aboard, there's much I can teach you"...
But it doesn't happen. And we'll sit watching the clocks, the calenders, the tv schedules... another Christmas, another birthday, the rewards for staying alive for another year. The small chance for us to forget that no matter how hard we try, it always does seem like those chains never bend, the links won't ever break.
Because this is a business we're running... life ain't no charity, my friend.
But it doesn't happen. And we'll sit watching the clocks, the calenders, the tv schedules... another Christmas, another birthday, the rewards for staying alive for another year. The small chance for us to forget that no matter how hard we try, it always does seem like those chains never bend, the links won't ever break.
Because this is a business we're running... life ain't no charity, my friend.
I often get thoughts like that but it is so difficult to put it all into words. You've done that with remarkable competency Goaty. Well done, they don't call you a notable for nothing. :)
reminds me of me.
nice piece, very apt to modern "office" lifestyles I think.
nice piece, very apt to modern "office" lifestyles I think.
I sit here hungry, but watch the clock, for 12 is when I always have lunch.
It's sad. Very, very sad.
It's sad. Very, very sad.
Don't want to say "Excellent piece of writing" again....um.... very g....no, that's not right....brill...no....oh sod it. Excellent piece there Goatboy.
Unfortunately, I can see myself being in exactly this position in a few years. My friends and family all think I've got my life made up. I'm at a top Uni, doing a really good course (IT and Business with a foreign language), sounds good doesn't it. I'm one of the top in the class, and juts earned myself THE placement year everyone wanted.
But I'm worried. I have no idea what I'm gonna do when I leave. OK, so I might get offered a job at this company I'm doing my placement at. But what if I don't enjoy this year out. I have NO idea what I want to do. I know it will most likely be something in IT, but I don't know what. Sure, I'm likely to get a "good" job. Well paid, responsibilities. But will it be what I want?
Live to work, or work to live? Either way you're better off doing something you enjoy at work.
----------------------------
Oh yeah, did you read my reply to your post in the "I need to feel the rage" topic?
Unfortunately, I can see myself being in exactly this position in a few years. My friends and family all think I've got my life made up. I'm at a top Uni, doing a really good course (IT and Business with a foreign language), sounds good doesn't it. I'm one of the top in the class, and juts earned myself THE placement year everyone wanted.
But I'm worried. I have no idea what I'm gonna do when I leave. OK, so I might get offered a job at this company I'm doing my placement at. But what if I don't enjoy this year out. I have NO idea what I want to do. I know it will most likely be something in IT, but I don't know what. Sure, I'm likely to get a "good" job. Well paid, responsibilities. But will it be what I want?
Live to work, or work to live? Either way you're better off doing something you enjoy at work.
----------------------------
Oh yeah, did you read my reply to your post in the "I need to feel the rage" topic?
Excellent piece of writing. It's not something I've really thought about yet, my career and life. I want to go to university, I know, but after that, haven't got a clue. I'd like to become a Divemaster and spend a few years drifting over the tropical world teaching scuba diving.
Excellent piece of writing there, Goatboy.
I too ponder questions similar to the ones you raised. I am 18, about to go to university, yet I think 'what is the point?'. I look at different people and see their lives following the same pattern. Go to school, get a girlfriend, leave school, get a cosy office job, save to buy a house, have children, die. Is that all there is? I agree with what you say, school actually hinders our inquisitive minds, railroading us into a set pattern of life, like ant workers, each one ofuse with our own function.
My advice to you is what I ty and keep to myself. Act young. I'm 18 and I goof around like a little kid, just trying to enjoy life. Look forward to simple things. If you try and look forward to a goal that is unrealistic or unattainable, you will always be unhappy. If you look forward to the simple things, maybe you will feel more content.
That's just my way. I hope you can see something worthwhile in that.
:D
I too ponder questions similar to the ones you raised. I am 18, about to go to university, yet I think 'what is the point?'. I look at different people and see their lives following the same pattern. Go to school, get a girlfriend, leave school, get a cosy office job, save to buy a house, have children, die. Is that all there is? I agree with what you say, school actually hinders our inquisitive minds, railroading us into a set pattern of life, like ant workers, each one ofuse with our own function.
My advice to you is what I ty and keep to myself. Act young. I'm 18 and I goof around like a little kid, just trying to enjoy life. Look forward to simple things. If you try and look forward to a goal that is unrealistic or unattainable, you will always be unhappy. If you look forward to the simple things, maybe you will feel more content.
That's just my way. I hope you can see something worthwhile in that.
:D
Another day at the workplace, another dawn and dusk thrown onto the pile known as "life".
Yet another day had passed and he achieved nothing, connected with nobody, changed nothing in his world.
He woke up as usual, got dressed and ate his breakfast. He actually did this according to a clock.
It was 7:30am, time to make a cup of tea.
Pathetic, he measured his life by a clock. He didn't obey his feelings, he just knew it was time to get dressed, time to eat, time to leave the house, time to reach work.
There were times when he almost caught sight of himself in one of those big plastic balls that he ran his pet in when he small and he spent time like it mattered.
He looked in the mirror.
Could he tell when he aged? He looked the same as yesterday, but he always though that each morning, couldn't see the notches in the calender but he sure as hell looked different than when he was a kid.
At what point did he surrender his lust for life and replace it with this routine of living by moments on a clock?
He felt like a bus, always due somewhere at a certain time. Work, lunch, home, didn't matter, he just knew he ran to a timetable.
This was being an adult? This was being responsible? It seemed that being "in the real world" meant you spent as much time as possible trying to recapture moments of fantasy.
What was it his teachers had told him? "Must try harder" Harder at what? He had the subjects they taught down, he knew his math and his geography.
Try harder at what?
He saw lines of kids being processed into schools. Inquisitive, eager minds always asking questions and poking at the things around them.
He then saw lines of callow youths exit the other side, no longer asking questions like "How" and "Why".
Instead they all "worked harder" and were "more productive".
Time to leave the hutch he called home.
But that seemed to be another lie he made himself believe in for his own sanity.
"Home is where the heart is", wasn't that the saying? His heart wasn't here.
Home to him were evenings with loved ones, secure and warm against the monsters in the closet and wolves at the door. This wasn't home, this was a storage facility for the times he wasn't at work being "more productive".
He had the nice things, those modern solutions for life that took all the effort from his time. His fridge made ice-cubes, his tv could programme itself to the stations he wanted so it flicked over without him even needing to lift a finger to press the button.
All he had to do is sit and be entertained. So why was it so difficult?
Get "home" from work, eat something quick and easy to forget then sit on the nice enviromentally friendly sofa and stare at the television as it filled him with images of happy people "going for it" and "being who they want to", then sleep and start it all again.
He had always been told "you don't fit" or "You act strange" when he never wanted to spend time with most people.
He watched them and it confused him, seeing people desperately orbiting each other, unwilling to say what they felt. They engaged in this ritual of mating-dance that neither were particularly good at or interested in, but they did it anyway because they lacked simple honesty.
He had tried this before to "fit in" but found it funny.
He stood at the bar and sipped a drink, watching people nervously pretending to ignore everyone else. Occasionally someone would approach a couple of women, ask one for a dance and she would accept. This would leave her friend looking at the floor and trying to hide that look of unhappiness that she hadn't been asked.
He didn't get it.
Once a woman had asked him for a dance and he had asked why. She looked confused, then tried to hide her embarassment with anger. He just laughed and walked out.
He had girlfriends in the past, but he didnt play the games. He couldn't pretend to act hurt or upset when he had done nothing but be honest, and they soon tired of trying to "change" him and left.
Which was fine by him, the less people that noticed his drift through the aftermath of his life the better.
He felt like a bystander in some bizarre crash. He was fascinated but repelled at the same time. He saw himself behaving exactly like everyone else, and he knew it was lame but couldnt do anything else.
Ah well, no time for that now anyway, it's 8:15am and time to drive to his workstation.
Sometimes he lost whole mornings in a fugue, which was fine because he wasn't exactly sure what he did there. People stopped asking him years ago and he stopped asking.
Yet another day had passed and he achieved nothing, connected with nobody, changed nothing in his world.
He woke up as usual, got dressed and ate his breakfast. He actually did this according to a clock.
It was 7:30am, time to make a cup of tea.
Pathetic, he measured his life by a clock. He didn't obey his feelings, he just knew it was time to get dressed, time to eat, time to leave the house, time to reach work.
There were times when he almost caught sight of himself in one of those big plastic balls that he ran his pet in when he small and he spent time like it mattered.
He looked in the mirror.
Could he tell when he aged? He looked the same as yesterday, but he always though that each morning, couldn't see the notches in the calender but he sure as hell looked different than when he was a kid.
At what point did he surrender his lust for life and replace it with this routine of living by moments on a clock?
He felt like a bus, always due somewhere at a certain time. Work, lunch, home, didn't matter, he just knew he ran to a timetable.
This was being an adult? This was being responsible? It seemed that being "in the real world" meant you spent as much time as possible trying to recapture moments of fantasy.
What was it his teachers had told him? "Must try harder" Harder at what? He had the subjects they taught down, he knew his math and his geography.
Try harder at what?
He saw lines of kids being processed into schools. Inquisitive, eager minds always asking questions and poking at the things around them.
He then saw lines of callow youths exit the other side, no longer asking questions like "How" and "Why".
Instead they all "worked harder" and were "more productive".
Time to leave the hutch he called home.
But that seemed to be another lie he made himself believe in for his own sanity.
"Home is where the heart is", wasn't that the saying? His heart wasn't here.
Home to him were evenings with loved ones, secure and warm against the monsters in the closet and wolves at the door. This wasn't home, this was a storage facility for the times he wasn't at work being "more productive".
He had the nice things, those modern solutions for life that took all the effort from his time. His fridge made ice-cubes, his tv could programme itself to the stations he wanted so it flicked over without him even needing to lift a finger to press the button.
All he had to do is sit and be entertained. So why was it so difficult?
Get "home" from work, eat something quick and easy to forget then sit on the nice enviromentally friendly sofa and stare at the television as it filled him with images of happy people "going for it" and "being who they want to", then sleep and start it all again.
He had always been told "you don't fit" or "You act strange" when he never wanted to spend time with most people.
He watched them and it confused him, seeing people desperately orbiting each other, unwilling to say what they felt. They engaged in this ritual of mating-dance that neither were particularly good at or interested in, but they did it anyway because they lacked simple honesty.
He had tried this before to "fit in" but found it funny.
He stood at the bar and sipped a drink, watching people nervously pretending to ignore everyone else. Occasionally someone would approach a couple of women, ask one for a dance and she would accept. This would leave her friend looking at the floor and trying to hide that look of unhappiness that she hadn't been asked.
He didn't get it.
Once a woman had asked him for a dance and he had asked why. She looked confused, then tried to hide her embarassment with anger. He just laughed and walked out.
He had girlfriends in the past, but he didnt play the games. He couldn't pretend to act hurt or upset when he had done nothing but be honest, and they soon tired of trying to "change" him and left.
Which was fine by him, the less people that noticed his drift through the aftermath of his life the better.
He felt like a bystander in some bizarre crash. He was fascinated but repelled at the same time. He saw himself behaving exactly like everyone else, and he knew it was lame but couldnt do anything else.
Ah well, no time for that now anyway, it's 8:15am and time to drive to his workstation.
Sometimes he lost whole mornings in a fugue, which was fine because he wasn't exactly sure what he did there. People stopped asking him years ago and he stopped asking.