I’ve already come to the conclusion that this year will be much the same as last and it could be argued that the world is more or less in the same boat. There isn’t going to be dramatic changes across the globe , the same old same old, the repetitive forecast of doom and gloom, the economy collapsing and more of the ultra-violence that has become our staple diet of media entertainment, but for the time being it is not in the forefront of my mind. My mind is drawn into a more localised world view and that can be a not so good thing when the world shrinks into a tight little ball which constitutes entirely of my inner imaginings.

Invariably my imaginings begin to paint with crooked strokes the bleak picture of how accursed my state of affairs seem to be. It was today when I was battling another afternoon lull in wakefulness when I pondered the futility of what I was doing, staring at bridge pier levels and thinking that this task, a seemingly endless journey, unbearable in its repetitiveness is just another day’s work that has been around before and will repeat in another moment of space. It’s a tedious and monotonous task, checking and calculating a series of reduced levels that really have no importance to me other than the money it deposits into my bank account every fortnight. But having that pay cheque still doesn’t seem to take away the dreariness of doing something that I’ve done so many times before and that’ll come back again.

It seems trivial and it is but when it becomes a recurring nightmare the “joy” of working and being productive and a part of something begins to dissipate into the ether of wondering how much better it would be if…. There’s no gratitude when everyday seems like a prison sentence and the thought of just dying and never having to face the same eternity seems like paradise. But of course it is called work not because we are filling in our leisure time with something to do, but because it is a chore that we must do to get that money to pay off our debts and provide the little amusements to help us forget that if it wasn’t for our yearning and conditioning to have the latest consumer product, to buy our social status from X brand, then we probably wouldn’t have to spend the better of our lives doing the thing we so often despise and complain about and dread.

I’ve often wondered if I just stopped the charade, dropped out and became a bum, what difference would it make to my life? Would I be better or worse off by not having to abide by the enslavement of money and could I get by with a more simple lifestyle? Could I create an alternative life other than the one I find myself in? Perhaps these are just the musings of the disenchanted, the bitter words of defeat maybe.