Wistful

Found this when I went trawling through my hi5 on a whim. It's almost prophetic judging by how I felt about work before I quit. (And yes, hi5 is social networking's once popular uncle... who you now avoid because he coughs a lot and smells like vicks vapor rub )


Work is slow. The day drags on with the enthusiasm of a convicts feet, shuffling on his way to the first and final appointment with the noose. Is this what I looked forward to the entire span of my school life? The numerous days spent pining away for the promised 'brighter future' that came hand in hand with the 'start on Monday' at the end of the interview?

Those days would have been put to better use in a number of ways. It's at times like these that memory beckons from the deep recesses within, a calling that initially transforms an individual into an inactive piece of humanity. A toothpick at a beer chugging competition.

You see your computer screen, but then again you don't (recollection gives one the ability to see past the physical). The comedy, the satire, the drama of your past life is now billed as the next show.

The curtains get drawn back. Your eyes have a vacant, meaningless stare. You don't know this though. You shouldn't. If only you could see yourself slacking off. Beautiful. The motion picture flickers on, projected in the back of your head. There you are, in those ridiculously small school shorts that you wore every day because 'they made you run faster'.

You just got caned for procrastinating on your homework. Again. The voice-over says that only the caning has changed. You laugh, and the echo reminds you that you are alone in the theatre. It's cramped in here though, there is only squatting space. For one.

So how is it that you heard an echo? You are here as well. You as a kid, laughing at you right now. Laughing at your 'if onlys'. Ha Ha Ha! What you wouldn't give to be in his place right now. He isn't in pain anymore. You know he isn't going to do his homework tomorrow, so maybe his pain is reserved for then.

For now though, he laughs at what he is bound to become; but more than that, he laughs with joy at the fact that he is what he is now. He laughs happily at the fact that he is not you. You with your wonderful job, and your two cars, and your down payment on that property in Runda. He laughs because you are rich and he isn't.

It is rapturous bliss. The boy does not have to become the man. He will never more be present physically, but he will live forever in your mind. He will never get a raise, he will never go a' courting, and yes, though it borders on the blasphemous, he will never play golf. Ever. The lucky bastard.

But you straighten up, as much as you can in this cavern of a head. They said there was much promise in 'your future'. The boy didn't believe it, but you did. Many a man has searched for 'your future' and the gem that it hides. Most have died without catching a glimpse of this reclusive beast.

You found it. You didn't stumble upon it. You tracked and stalked and stabbed and when it lay at your feet, you ripped its heart out. 'Much promise' was in your hand, still beating. You made it. So why does the child ridicule your achievements?

You are a man, a warrior, a CHAMPION...are you? A big, bald guy walks on screen. I recognize him and it immediately all recedes in a dizzying blur, my mouse gaining tangibility and the icon desperately searching for...what was I working on?

'Good afternoon sir, the folder will be on your desktop by four.'