There are two hours of work left; one hundred and twenty minutes until the fresh light of freedom envelops me, taking me away from this pit of despair to the land of everlasting happiness. Well, everlasting insomuch as I am given leave of this place long enough to forget the salty bands of hate which wrap my head and warp my thoughts each afternoon.
A friend of mine once said that happy is the main who takes joy in his work. Try as I might, I can find no joy in what I have forced my hand to do. And thus I am not a happy man, at least between the hours of 7:00 A.M. and 5:15 P.M. And what joy I do find is tinged with the sad knowledge that m reprieve is fleeting and subject to the incessant return of another long, grey day.
Nietzsche once wrote that a life of little significance is a life not worth having lived. In short, he said that our actions are doomed to repeat themselves again and again and again without ending. And if, as we pass each time, we have not impacted the world around us in a way that either benefits or harms the greater human community, we may as well have never existed.
I am paraphrasing, of course.
Nietzsche was insane and his conclusions in this regard result in a scary sort of moral relativism. But true therein does lie; at least in part. If all we do is take part in the greater rat race of humanity, what is the point? How can we look at the lives we have lead in comparison to those who define vile slothfulness and conclude that our existence is somehow superior? That the world is better for having seen us? That it all meant something?
How can I stare at the clock all day and justify having spent all that money on a college degree instead of a sports car? Or, to give a worse perspective of my character, blind charity? How can I, in good conscience, collect a paycheck and call itmine when all I do is this?
Is there a way out?
At lunch this afternoon, I sat behind a woman who spent her time away from her office speaking on the phone with her sister. Her sister was sad. Her sister was in a bad place. And the woman in front of me was a bottomless spring of hope and joy and warm expectation. As the conversation ended, I got the feeling that the gorl on the other end, whom I will never meet, is lucky to have this woman in her life. And that things will be alright for her.
And maybe for me as well, I think.
Then I return to work and strap myself in, staring at nothingness for an eternity until the bell rings and things change from one waste of time to another. A senseless cycle of distraction. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. And keep on keeping on. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. He probably isn’t there anyway.
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The easy solution to all of this is to eat a large Pizza Hut pizza. With pepperoni. And mushrooms. Mmmmm.