It was kinda fun to get back to this job at first, but it’s gotten very boring. I do the same crap all day every day. Why bother with that? What is the point of coming to work when every day is exactly the same? That’s not living. It’s death, and I don’t like being dead and conscious. Time passes by very slowly that way. I’m a person, not a machine.
I’ve been thinking about the times in Washington when I was walking around enjoying the fact that I didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything. I was happy because I was free. I remember now why I left Texas to go there. I can’t be free here. I couldn’t really be free in Washington either though because I was depending on my sister. I need to leave and depend only on myself or maybe take up The Ceej on his offer to go wander the world, assuming he still wants to do that.
The last time I thought about this, I used my family as an excuse to stay here. I wasn’t being totally honest though. Sure my family would worry if I just went off to see what freedom had in store for me, but what’s really holding me back is my own worries. I know that death in some form could very well await me out there, but living death is what I’m experiencing here. Does actual death really seem that bad? That’s the worst case scenario anyway. Maybe the beginning of a great life begins with my escape from this one, and by that I don’t mean dying. I mean escaping this living death of office drudgery and being surrounded by consumerism. I can’t let my family tie me down. They don’t depend on me.