2.23.2005

16850

Some of the most outwardly depressing things I have seen are those commercials are the ones of the office guy getting ready to work, where the presentation is almost stop motion, each frame taken 24 hours and one second later, his suit changes with every step he takes, the season changes, haircuts, but his routine is so set that, within his clothes, he follows the same path as regular as clockwork.
The mind-numbing monotony of it all. I’m in a job I at least moderately enjoy; writing feature stories and a crime blotter for a small weekly, and still I feel as if I’m futilely clawing at muddy walls as I slide inexorably towards my grave. Even in my recreation my days are the same, watch a movie, read a couple chapters of a book, play Xbox for an hour or two, play with dog.
Times like this plague me with horrible, frightening thoughts. That we are all trapped in purgatory, not bad enough for hell, not good enough for heaven, and completely unable to remember the lives that came before and brought us to this place. And, that greatest fear of mortal man, that I will be forgotten, not only because of a life not pushed to its potential, but because it is inevitable that I, a grain of sand on and endless beach, shall ultimately be overlooked as the waves of time wash over me, bury me, pound me ever smaller and insignificant until I ultimately disappear.
I am getting evermore anxious to join the peace corps, for while it will offer, eventually, its own grove to get stuck in, I always enjoy the first couple months of blazing the trail.

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