Monday has fallen upon us once again; it's viscious fangs rending the hope from our souls, devouring the warmth of all human kindness, laying waste to the dreams that once harbored safely within our hearts . . .
Too melodramatic?
Yea, you're probably right, but I really don't like Mondays, ya; know? Seems that no matter how things go over the weekend, or how light the workload is, or what good things may happen (yea right!) on this day of the week: I'm still depressed as hell on Monday. It's the whole "working for a living" concept. I have a very deep seated hatred for the status quo of modern society. It's got to be some type of imbalance in me or something. The Wife seems fine with it. She is fine with the idea of working for the next thirty years in a decent-paying, semi-comfortable position that gives you exactly 10.8 hours of accrued time off each month. The idea of working 50 or so hours each week, for people who would replace you in a moment if ever you dare to step outside the parameters of "good behavior" as outlined in the 365 page H.R. Manual, wherin you signed away all your rights on the back page the day you began work there, doesn't bother her. Doesn't seem to bother a lot of folks actually. Just me. The whole system seems wrong to me. Am I the only one who needs a purpose to my life? The Wife stares at me like I have three heads when I start ranting about it but I can't seem to help myself. Is this all there is? Did some omnipotent being create my soul and hand me a body so that I could generate green pieces of paper for a faceless corporation that has no appreciation or regard for my efforts? Am I nothing but a cog in the machine; a mere data bit in the vast computer of economic efficiency? Or perhaps I was not created at all . . . perhaps I'm nothing more than the infinitely improbable collusion of unrelated circumstance that has combined in the eternal ether to create consciousness. Am I the the grand winner of the most valuable and immense galactic lottery ever imagined? Did I just happen to hit the big number on the grand roulette wheel of eternity? If I am, then should I fritter away that prize by sublimating myself in the pursuit of monetery stasis, and a reliable mode of transport to best enable my puruit of said stasis? Shall I trade my status as a winner of "life", against infinite odds, for the hope of a few years -when I'm too decrepit to appreciate it- wherein I may sit about and do as I wish? Assuming I do not wish anything beyond the median of my limited accumulation of wealth? Shall I sell all the viable years of my life for the dream of a gold watch and a rocking chair in which I may comfortably await my demise?
AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO WORRIES ABOUT THIS SHIT?????????
Oh well. Anyway, it's Monday.
I don't like Monday.
Later!
2 comments:
Paragraphs! Paragraphs! I need more paragraphs. Just kidding.
Existential questions abound for most everyone. The one that most people get stuck on is, "This is it?!?!"
No, Jim, you're not the only one. I wrote a really long rant in your comments and decided to copy and paste to my own blog instead of publish it here.
I hear you, Jim. My husband and I were talking about this very topic just this evening. We BOTH feel this way to some extent, but I'm REALLY feeling it right now, like the weight of a boulder pressing me down...
Maybe we need a writer's retreat or something, I don't know. (Why can I almost hear my mother saying, "I'll TELL you what you need... ") ???
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