Another Normal Tuesday

It's 7:30am and it's my second morning waking up in the new apartment... it's peaceful here. I can see a pretty little woods through the back door... the sun is quietly rising. I would like to stay here all day -- reading books, doing some writing, playing guitar. Right now, it's easy to imagine that there is no such thing as traffic, or large, looming, impersonal office buildings full of people who don't realize that this is a beautiful day to just be ourselves.

But we're not going to be ourselves today. Not really. Because everyone checks their selves at the front door before walking into the office. It's as though we take everything that's fascinating and quirky and funny about ourselves and hang it on an invisible meathook outside the building. Shed of our selves, we can enter and play a role for 8, 9, 10, or more hours. The play, a black comedy, is alternately titled "mortgage" or "fear" or "this is what I'm meant to do". At the end of the day, our selves are still hanging where we left them. But they feel a little older and tired-er at days end.

How is it that we have organized our society like this? How is it that there is so much acceptance that this is simply the way it is. Even worse, what if some people like this? Even worse, what if some people never question it?

Then again, perhaps they are the lucky ones. It is only people like me who find it painful. People who embrace or don't think about it just find it normal.

Just another normal Tuesday.

We'll see. Maybe it doesn't have to be.