Chapter One
Who am I?
Alas not a simple question to answer.
Why not?
Because I am still discovering who I am.
My sense of direction is shocking, ask anyone who knows me and because of this I have taken many long and probably unnecessary life detours to get where I am today. Of course you’re now expecting me to regale you with boastful stories of my successful career and life in general, however, I have another story to impart on the world. A story that is shouted many times over upon deft ears.
I remember year nine, I was 14 years old, finally in senior school, afraid of the seniors, had a crush on a 15 year old and pondering that years Christmas list. With the occasional glance at my books and my hectic social life that pretty much summed up 14 for me. Then one day the games had to stop, suddenly at 14 I was expected to make a decision that would alter the course of my entire life. I had to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Then I wake up and I’m 27 and have finally answered the question that is I hope so because my ambitions have deceived me before. I want to be a writer, but how does one do that? Sure I’ve written a few plays and some witty banter but I had never considered writing as a career till now. I curse my creative streak or lack of.
Sometimes I wish I could be happy just doing a run of the mill, 9 to 5 job that pays me a reasonable salary, but seven hours of none self inflicted boredom just doesn’t appeal to me. I am either irresponsible or wise because I hold onto the idea that work is not the be all and end all of existence. As the saying goes “work to live, not live to work”, to my eyes it would appear that most people live to work, do the math.
There are 24 hours in a day.
8 hours is dedicated to work
8 hours dedicated to sleep
2 hours dedicated to getting to and from work
1 hour dedicated to getting ready for work
1 hour dedicated to getting unready after work
20 hours is now lost.
1 hour to cook and eat dinner
3 hours left.
What can someone do in 3 hours?
No wonder depression is fast becoming the second largest illness.
Of course people argue that “we have the weekends” but I know from my own experience that weekends just aren’t long enough. You’re too darn tired from the week to actually think about doing anything because you’re too brain dead from your boring mundane job.
Alas not a simple question to answer.
Why not?
Because I am still discovering who I am.
My sense of direction is shocking, ask anyone who knows me and because of this I have taken many long and probably unnecessary life detours to get where I am today. Of course you’re now expecting me to regale you with boastful stories of my successful career and life in general, however, I have another story to impart on the world. A story that is shouted many times over upon deft ears.
I remember year nine, I was 14 years old, finally in senior school, afraid of the seniors, had a crush on a 15 year old and pondering that years Christmas list. With the occasional glance at my books and my hectic social life that pretty much summed up 14 for me. Then one day the games had to stop, suddenly at 14 I was expected to make a decision that would alter the course of my entire life. I had to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Then I wake up and I’m 27 and have finally answered the question that is I hope so because my ambitions have deceived me before. I want to be a writer, but how does one do that? Sure I’ve written a few plays and some witty banter but I had never considered writing as a career till now. I curse my creative streak or lack of.
Sometimes I wish I could be happy just doing a run of the mill, 9 to 5 job that pays me a reasonable salary, but seven hours of none self inflicted boredom just doesn’t appeal to me. I am either irresponsible or wise because I hold onto the idea that work is not the be all and end all of existence. As the saying goes “work to live, not live to work”, to my eyes it would appear that most people live to work, do the math.
There are 24 hours in a day.
8 hours is dedicated to work
8 hours dedicated to sleep
2 hours dedicated to getting to and from work
1 hour dedicated to getting ready for work
1 hour dedicated to getting unready after work
20 hours is now lost.
1 hour to cook and eat dinner
3 hours left.
What can someone do in 3 hours?
No wonder depression is fast becoming the second largest illness.
Of course people argue that “we have the weekends” but I know from my own experience that weekends just aren’t long enough. You’re too darn tired from the week to actually think about doing anything because you’re too brain dead from your boring mundane job.
posted by Charlii Fandango @ 12:28 am
2 Comments:
Well while some will argue, with good cause, that they'd have killed to take boring over stressed to tears, I acknowledge that both really suck. Fuck it lets all just start some sort of tribe away from work.
Maybe in Africa
In the bush
With nuclear capability.
PG: Totally not planning an apocolypse.
Hey Chuck, wrote a song for you. I just couldn’t go past the Who am I? line without making some sort of Les Mis reference. Perhaps this is the long descent into madness whereupon I end up like Shaun and Aaron, where everything prompts me to quote something else. Or maybe its got to do with the fact I’m listening to the Les Mis soundtrack. Whatever.
Anyway, this is the Charlotte entity singing to herself and to the Chuckles entity, after the Charlotte entity realises that the Chuckles entity is trying to destroy herself in order to make things easier for the Charlotte entity. Charlotte realises that this would indeed make life easier, but ponders whether Chuckless Charlotte is really Charlotte at all.
Who am I?
Can I conceal myself for evermore?
Pretend I'm not the fun loving chick I was before?
And must my life until I die be nothing more then alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow Manman?
How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to writing I know,
I made that bargain long ago,
It gave me hope when hope was gone,
It gave me strength to journey on.
Who am I?
Who am I?
I’m a writer and not a pe-on!
And so Chuckles you see it’s true,
Charlotte can bear work no more then you
Who am I?
2-fucked-2-go-on!
NB: 2-fucked-2-go-on means too fucked to go on working in a boring job, and is not some underlying suicidal mindframe. :)
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