It’s, once again, time for the Saturday night blues. The on-again-off-again ritual where I stop being able to breathe properly, because I realize that not only do I have work tomorrow, and the next day, and until the end of the week, I have to repeat this cycle week after week, month after month, year after year – until I die.
Because this is what life is now. I need to pay bills, rent, eat and feed, and once a year allow myself the escape to somewhere that isn’t here that makes living bearable. And do to this, I need to work. Every day, every week, every month – until I die.
Modern day slavery, is what it is. Where the alternative is nonexistent. Where, even if you manage to escape, there’s nowhere to go without the right visa. And even there, it’s much of the same. For food and shelter, you need to pay. If only for the land to grow and build it on.
So you can’t possibly blame me if I want to bail early. If I actually hope to get sick and die early, so that at least this torture doesn’t have to go on for 30-40 more years. If I’m gonna work until I die, might as well get it over with soon. And you can’t tell me I’m crazy, I’m broken. It’s the world that’s crazy and broken. Look around you. Look at it. It’s not me. It’s really, really, not.
“…it’s a race, a race for rats to die.”