Someone looked at me today and told me it has been a long week.
My immediate response was, “Week? It’s been a long life.”
They laughed it off.
So I walked away because it seemed like the best idea.
But the truth is, I don’t feel like I get a break very often.
It feels like it is one thing after another after another.
What I really want is to escape for a while to a place where I can breathe.
I’ve noticed that life has sped up.
Every week is the same:
Go to work, go home, sleep, pray for Friday to come faster, curse Monday.
I’m not living anymore, I’m existing.
There was a time when I savored my days.
I sipped them like a fine wine, relishing in their unique flavors.
Now I rush through them.
From the moment I get up, to the moment I go to bed, I’m living a countdown.
Weekdays I rush to bed to make time go faster.
Weekends I stay up too late, exhausting myself, trying to slow things down.
It’s a game where I try my best to manipulate reality.
It never works.
Weekdays are long.
Weekends are short.
Suddenly another month has gone by, soon another year.
I’m not even sure what would happened if I tried to stop it now.
It feels like the world would end.
There are so many demands on my time, my energy, my paycheck.
If I were to just say enough, I’m worried nobody would listen.
So trudging on while the scenery zips by me it is.
Another day.
Another dollar.
Another regret.
Another missed opportunity.
Someday it will all run out.
Time will cease it’s progression.
Someday I’ll find myself turning to dust.
Then there will be a break.
For now I’m living the dream.
Or so I’ve been told.
To me it seems more like I’m dreaming to live.