Routine... slow death. Exquisite and highly refined torture. Perfection, because of the indifference of the torturer.
I've been reading a lot recently. 3-4 books, simultaneously, something I haven't done in years. Much as I like to read, it seems to point out the lack of any other activity in my life. The week from Monday to Friday passes by without making any impression on me, my thoughts or contributing anything to knowledge or experience. Go to work at 8:00 am, come back at 5:00 pm. Spend the next 5-6 hours doing nothing I can remember.
Life seems to be Ed Norton's general facial expression in 'Fight Club'.
In contrast, the books that I'm reading are all about travel, generally under adverse circumstances. One Scottish guy walked through Afghanistan just after the fall of the Taliban. A lady lived with and moved around with the gypsies of Europe for a couple of years. Another guy whirl-winded through America and wrote about in a way that got a generation to sigh collectively. There are 5 similar books stacked up that I haven't even dared to start yet.
Makes me want to listen to nothing but rock music, in the vague hope that it can and will drown out the mocking and the jeering. Mostly my own.
2 months to the end of this degree... then what ?
Being so far from home, we guys talk to family over the weekend. Staying in touch. Keeping up with developments. Problem is - this is supposed to be a quid pro quo relationship. We guys have nothing to offer. Makes for a short, frustrating conversation. Almost reluctantly comes the realization that our friends are facing the same blank wall. Collective relief. Safety in numbers. Its not that we crave Kenneth Anderson / Indiana Jones - esque lives. We just don't want to be reminded of our mediocrity so often.
Anywhere but here. But what if this life were someone else's idea of heaven ?
We can make choices, but must be prepared to face consequences.
The best years of our lives are fading away...blown away like ash from the end of a fast-burning cigarette. The lighter is in our hands.
Question to the reader: We all have a sub-conscious list of things we wanted to do before we skipped over the quarter-life mark. How many on yours have been ticked off ?
Song of yearning: Born to be wild - Steppenwolf