I detest them. (My sister does too, so I know I am not alone in this)
There is something about them, this horrible tick tock in my mind from the moment i wake up counting down to the point it is Monday again, the point in which any freedom the weekend seemed to have is compounded and squashed down into me and I have to be regular and normal and compliant.
I spend the next five days hanging on for dear life, trying to survive. Pretending I'm an adult on the surface who can wash clothes regularly and cook delightful healthy meals each evening and act interested in mild small talk, underneath I'm treading water. Worrying my dirty washing pile will come to life and suffocate me in my sleep. Worried my reclusive nature had turned me into a social RETARD. Worried he isn't happy, Worried I will fuck everything up. The 9-5 consists of shuffling of papers and getting stressed about things that in the big scheme of things I don't give a shit about.
Friday comes and I'm lighter I have what seems like a long stretch of time to be myself and chill out and there is always this sense there is going to be an adventure, there never is an adventure. By Saturday I'm deflated or busy trying to organize the chaos the house had become or arguing and then Sunday comes and I feel like shit again, awaiting the conveyor built of robotic false normality and crappy soul destroying work.
There is MORE to life than this. I know there is.
But at the moment I feel stuck and negative and fucked off. I crave change, I painted all the furniture turquoise, I tried to dye my hair red and its a murky black, I'm trying to lose weight but all I want to do is eat shit food in a blanket on the couch and switch off. I keep pretending I'm going to have a change of career but I'm shit scared.
Hey reader, you can stop reading now. There is no UPSIDE going to be posted on this blog. There is not a fucking up side around to help me out today so I will be buggered if I give you a happy ending so you keep reading.
My life IS NOT BAD. Its just fucking average and I wanted to be superhuman, I thought I was so fucking special- you did too right? yeah.
He was sad today, said things that should have hurt, things he would never normally say. I hadn't the energy to ache or be angry or upset. I just wanted to sleep, to let the hours pass and wake up with next weeks treadmill under my feet and run.
Run far and fast and be alone from everything.
It will be better tomorrow.
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