You wake up one morning and realize that you are at a dead end job, thirty something, still not sure what you're supposed to be doing with your life, grasping for every semblance of happiness, however brief, fleeting, or legal it is. You look down at the gut that once was a toned stomach at some point of your youth and remember the days of youth and vitality that once were.
You went to college like you were supposed to. You found the job like you were told to. You did the things according to the cosmic plan that seemed to be set up for you since birth.
And it amounts to a whole lot of nothing.
Purpose? Meaning? These are things that you admonished long ago. You silently wish that the cosmos is playing some kind of grand joke on you because that would mean that this meaningless mediocrity of your daily existence would someday end, being replaced by a meaningful existence. But deep inside you have long realized in a world full of you's, your existence just really isn't worth the effort to play that elaborate of a joke on.
You feel infinitely trapped in what you do, unsatisfied by the mundane tasks that you set before yourself. You have been trained since birth to pursue the praise and approval of those you deem your superiors; a congratulatory pat in the butt or a shiny sticker given for a job well done. Then you realize that this recognition you desire so greatly is even more demeaning now that you are not a child.
You see your peers around you pass by benchmarks in their lives. Promotions, marriages, the birth of a child; you dismiss their accomplishments as nothing more than misguided pursuits, yet deep within a part of you envies them.
You demand that society recognize you for titles that you think you deserve. I AM AN ADULT GOD DAMMIT- you want to shout on the top of your lungs, as you sit upon your couch in your blue jeans and tee shirt, flip flops and tangled, uncombed hair, all remnants of a rebellious youth that you regret ever growing out of. Your only solace is the alcohol that you consume in copious amounts that reduces you to no more of the mental capacity of a toddler.
The tattoos are all faded as you have forgotten meaning to the permanent scars that you so eagerly subjected yourself to. The piercings all filled in, except the socially acceptable ones on your body.
You wonder of the dreams you once had- the vastness and imagination and creativity that you could conjure just as your eyelids drifted shut in deep dream filled nights. You don't remember the last peaceful night that you slept, each morning dreading the work day ahead, or one day closer to the work day to come.
You hate your job. You hate your job. You find every excuse to lengthen your commute to work each day. The last thought that reverberates in your mind as you exit your car is the anxiety you feel for the day to come or the dread you feel as a deadline approaches. Your car ride over in the morning after a hurried shower followed by an unsatisfying and tasteless breakfast is your only solace. When you finally park in the inevitability of the parking garage, your hand slightly trembles as it reaches to turn the key off. Your mind frantically thinks of other destination to drive away to; unfounded impulses that your adult mind dismisses, but your inner child once reveled in.
Why did you grow up? Why did you let fun die?
You can count the smiles and grins that your lips curled up for on one hand. Not those superficial smiles that you share with people who hide away from when you see them outside your normal social interactions, but the ones of genuine amusement and joy; the smiles that you can still see the innocence of childhood and the hope of dreams that have not yet been frozen and put into suspended animation to be revitalized when you have more time, only to be forgotten in the cold locker of opportunities past.
Dreams only fester like rotting meat now. The sooner you get rid of them, the less the stink that lies in your soul as they lay dormant.
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