Here's another classic. Continuing on from last week, I'm still looking through the crazy shit I've written in the past. I was in dark places sometimes, both outside and in. But through it all, I kept working, kept grinding, as slowly as it was, and kept the fire lit. I found out a long time ago that whatever you want is yours with enough determination and, even more important, enough time. Things never happen overnight, you got to keep at it. Even when it looks bad, like really fucking bad, you've got to keep working towards what you want and what you can do. If you aren't doing that, then get the fuck out of our way.
Ring, ring, ring, went the phone, only further elevating his irritation at the dump hole he had worked at for far too long.
Is this real? He thought it might be. All the senses of an aware individual pulsated into his throbbing head.
The smell of chemicals, like urine dried on a sidewalk in the sun.
The flicker of fluorescents.
The touch of soft paper.
The warmth of fake heat pumped out of increasingly noisy machine.
All these things told him it was real, but he just wanted to wake up.
He answered the phone with his contractually-obligated response which was in accordance with strict company policy.
Everytime he said the memorized greeting, he could feel a tiny piece of his soul rip off and float away.
Heavy breathing, like that of sexual excitement or a raced heart, was the only response on the other end. He recited the opening greeting again and then told the caller to call back when they could talk.
It was getting harder for him to enjoy things, to keep attaining, growing. He couldn’t even concentrate long enough to write one page of nonsensical rambling about his job.
Everything seemed to be falling away, further from his goals, further from the dream he wished he could wake up into.