Same Old Shit, Just a Different Day…
When did the transition from childhood into adulthood go from being an adventure like Lord of the Rings, to being like Groundhog Day? I have the same routine every. fucking. day. I want to join a gang or become a dirty politician just to break up the monotony. Perhaps I’ll rob a bank; leave the money at the front door, and carry about my business to get a cheap thrill. The only downside to that idea is of course, getting caught. If I thought my life now was routine, I can’t imagine 20 years in the penitentiary. I’d shift from breaking up the monotony with bank robbery, to shanking bitches and committing prison rape. You have to find the silver lining in every situation I always say…
Since I stopped that whole getting-fucked up-on –cheap-whiskey-every-night deal, I find I’m lacking in social interaction and excitement; mainly in the form of drunk driving, bar fights, drunk girls and public urination. Now I’m the domesticated dad making dinner, cleaning house and doing laundry. I love my family but shit…I’m 3 dirty dishes away from eating Chinese paint chips and downing a bottle of bleach.
I understand what Fight Club was about now. It wasn’t a social commentary on American Consumerism; it was extremely bored and apathetic men who were sick of the routine and the grind and just wanted to get a rise by fucking shit up cave-man style.
I tell you, I’m fed-the-fuck up sitting in traffic every God damned morning on the same fucked-up-under-construction freeways, day in and day out. I’m sick of cheese Danishes for breakfast and ham & cheese sandwiches for lunch. I’m sick of sitting in front of this stupid-ass computer screen for 9 hours a day, only to go home and stare at another screen, watching the same shit on TV that I always do; and I’m sick of eating worn out dinner-recipes then forcing myself to go to sleep (eventually), just to do it all over again the next day. To quote Office Space: “…every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it.”
Calm down people; this isn’t a cry for help or a suicide note; this is just my way of saying that some truly amazing shit needs to start going down quick, fast and in a hurry so that I may be entertained. I need zombie apocalypses, fucking biblical apocalypses, or even just a really really big thunder storm. I need something to get the adrenaline flowing through my veins so that I don’t just waste away; a bitter old man with “missed opportunities”, wishing he’d done something great; like getting hammered in Scotland on local scotch.
Is this the “mid-life crisis” I heard so much about growing up? Or is it more of a need for the excitement that I had in my earlier years leading up to my departure from the military? Whatever the case may be, leading a life of crime is sounding more and more appealing each day. I’m talking ‘crime family’, not petty theft and murder; think Sopranos. By day, I lead an exciting life of business and crime; by night, I’m a family man making dinner for the kids, doing bath time and homework. I’d be like Spider Man; only committing crimes instead of helping people…and not gay.
Sometimes I’m so incredibly bored and apathetic after work, I wonder what it would be like to just walk up and randomly punch the first man I saw doing something retarded. No words of warning, no fit of anger…simply walk to him, punch him square in his face and walk away. Would he fight back? Would he cry and scream: “Why?! Why?!” a-la Nancy Kerrigan? Would he lay there in confusion? I would hope he’d fight back and get in a punch or two, but considering the sissy nature of most men today; I’d have to go with: lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids…and calling the police from his i-phone (because there’s probably an app for that.)
I can’t be the only one who scours the news hoping for some terrible outbreak of mad-monkey ass-flue, in which everyone infected decides to shove bananas in their ass and flick strangers nut-sacks. I’m pouring my feelings out people; don’t judge me, you racists!
I don’t wish death on anyone (unless you’re trying to kill me first…or you belong to the Kardashian clan); but I only feel truly alive when danger is present or I’m out of my comfort zone. Which I suppose means that unless we have a sweeping epidemic of walking-dead Kardashians, I’m going to have to free climb (sans-rope) a mountain, wrestle an alligator or watch a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon, in order to get that adrenaline rush. Personally, I’d rather take my chances with the mountain climbing or wearing Lady Ga-Ga’s infamous meat-dress in an alligator pit; but due to location constrictions, I suppose I can’t be picky with my near death experiences.
Time to go back to staring at my work computer screen for…oh, about 6 more hours.