I Find It Kind of Funny

I’ve been thinking that everything’s been kind of tiring lately.

It’s getting harder and harder to get myself motivated enough to get out of bed. I lie down for hours and hours at a time; sleep always seems to be so far away, and when it does come, it’s always too late. When I finally fall asleep, never a day passes where I don’t wake up with my heart in my throat. I’m exhausted even before I step inside the office.

Work never seems to change, either. Every day I pass the same tired places, the same weary faces – faces that seemed resigned to this dull, unending stream of monotony. It’s hard, but this is how they make a living. This is how I make a living. We force ourselves to get into the office and sit in front of an overly bright screen and type away at a keyboard for eight hours, each and every single day. In the evening, we get up, all sore and stiff from sitting ramrod straight for hours at end, and we set out to drown our sorrows in our tears. We drink away our time, money, and sanity, and then we head home to try and get some sleep, only to repeat the same thing the next day. This is the only way we can live. The only way I know how.

Forever black and white, following an eternally dreary path.

I used to think it only became this way when I reached that thing called adulthood. Thinking back, I guess I was wrong. Memories of the same monotonous life – different things to do, but the feeling was the same. It was all the same. My school years passed in a translucent blur. I barely remember anything from my time in class. I do remember asking a teacher I once admired about a lesson, and how that teacher looked through me as if I wasn’t even there. I remember my birthdays being the only thing I ever looked forward to during my childhood, and thinking, Finally! My chance to be happy! And it was true – it was the one day in a year when I really enjoyed myself. When I still had hopes in myself. When I was happy to be me. When I was happy I was alive.

When did it ever stopped being that way, I wonder?

Lately though, I’ve been having strange dreams. I don’t know if it’s an omen or what, but in all these dreams I’m having I seem to end up being... dead. I die in these dreams. I don’t remember how I died. I don’t remember what killed me. I just remember dying.

The saddest thing is, those dreams seem to be the best thing that’s ever happened in my life so far.

This is a mad world we live in, and you and I are mad people running in eternal circles, never stopping to think or ask why. We live to work; jumping through hoops is the only real reason why we live. We are the wretched souls who seek respite in the final vestiges of twilight, but are destined to never find it. We are mad people, and this is a mad, mad world that we live in.

Aah, it would be nice if I could have that dream again tonight...