You wake up, shower, get dressed, run late to work, catch the bus, sprint to the office, avoid your boss, sit at your desk, open up your computer, check your emails, respond to none of them, spend way too much time getting coffee, and wait until it’s time to go home. You come home, shower, watch a regrettable amount of streaming television, question whether or not streaming services are moral, go to bed, do it again.
You say good morning to Bryan as you pass by his desk.
You: Hey Bryan.
He delivers the same dumb joke that he delivers every morning
Bryan: Hay is for horses.
You choke back your hatred. You mumble to yourself.
Yourself: What does that mean?
You sit at your desk, sip your coffee. As always you’re still tired but you drink it anyway because you have to. It’s apart of your routine and at this point, why change your routine.
You come home, decide you’ve earned a treat and order a pie of pizza for yourself. As you sit in your bed, alone, hating yourself with every bite, deep down you know you did absolutely nothing to deserve this pizza.
The next day arrives.
Wake up, shower, arrive late, grab coffee, say good morning to Bryan.
Later you ask Bryan if he has the approval folder. He says another dumb joke.
Bryan: “Folder” I hardly knew her!
He laughs. You ball your fists.
Then you do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Sometimes you shake it up. Sometimes instead of coffee, you surprise yourself with a muffin. Then again. And again. And again. And again. And every night, you ask yourself the same question. When will something happen?
When will life finally push you? When will you face something new? When will you fall in love? When will an adventure find you? When will things change?
On the weekends, sure you go out with your friends. A slight diversion from your typical monotonous schedule. It’s nice. But even in the company of your closest friends, you find that you have absolutely nothing to talk about. It’s sad.
You hear about their week, they hear about yours. You tell them that this week the printer broke. It through you into an aloof. They nod their head, awkwardly sip their drink because they have nothing to add to this unfulfilling story. You do the same, trying to choke down the thought that you are just as shitty as this beer and just as dead inside as this bar.
You lack a good story to tell. You have little lessons learned. Nothing to look back on. You did everything right, and yet you feel so incomplete. Like your wasting time. You fill your time but somehow it’s still being wasted.
That sucks for you.
You ask yourself, as you single-handedly finish yet another pie of pizza, “When will life take my breath away?” The real question you should be asking is, “Why am I eating all this pizza by myself on a Thursday night?”
Also, you should be asking, “When am I going to take my own breath away?”