There was an overwhelming compulsion to greet the day with an expletive today. Flashing back a couple of days, I’d realised that the fleshes were nonetheless, invariably human. An insidious headache serves to remind me of my vulnerability, and my body responded by felling itself into a long ardous slumber. After two weeks of pounding, I had felt like a used kitchen rag. That being said, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Perhaps it does not explain the need to hurl a distasteful word at the break of dawn. Maybe I was jaded, maybe I was rushing for time. But in all chaos, there is clarity. It was clear that I wanted, or rather needed, to extract every derivable morsel of truth. It could have been. It was.
The office lady with the wrong heels. The man with a stack of lottery tickets in his hand; the stack aptly named ‘hope’. My colleague who aspires to be an Austrian economist; he sports clothes from Spade and is never thankful for the wonderful girl he has. There is no respite from what many have shown. Not one is without forlorn hope or guilty bones. Obscenely futile at times, we still pursue in the seemingly needless. Even after trials and tribulations, we still do harm unto ourselves and others. The looks on our deathbeds, mostly ones of residual guilt.