Princess MoMo

Imagine this scenario:  You are an adult occupying the “real world” sphere.  It’s whatever o’clock a.m. and an ever annoying sound assaults your ears.  Your state of deep sleep is disrupted and you nearly jump out of your skin.  You’ve barely succumbed to the forced consciousness as you reach for the source of the auditory annihilation: your alarm.  You look at the time and snooze the alarm only to stay awake for those precious ten minutes, during which time you endeavor to muster up enough motivation to part with the warmth of your bed.  Nine minutes and 58 seconds later, you turn off the alarm before it sounds off for you can’t bear to hear the sound again.  Two more minutes elapse.  Finally, you begrudgingly place one foot off the bed and slowly peel off the covers.  It’s cold because you live in New Jersey.   (Yes, it’s as bad as it sounds.  Seasons are overrated.)  You make your way to cleanse your body.  You stumble a couple of times, but finally, you find yourself under a stream of warm, flowing water.  But, you can’t savor that experience for too long.   You dry yourself off, throw on “business casual” clothes (since this is my hypothetical – the clothes you throw on match perfectly and you perfectly accessorize in record speed time), and you hop into your motor vehicle for an agonizing morning commute.  The droplets that felt so good in the shower are falling from the sky, but instead of arousing a soothing sensation, the sky droplets severely impede the motor skills of your fellow road mates only adding to the pain of the journey.   And what is the destination?  The promise land? The land of make  believe?  Candy Mountain?  No.

The destination is a desk, but not just any desk.  This desk has on it a computer and one (or if you’re “lucky,” two or more) monitors.  The desk is also populated with a stapler.  Everyone loves staplers, right?  And, the papers…oh, the piles of papers…the mountains of papers…the fucking Kilimanjaro of fucking papers.  One false move with a match and Smokey the Bear will be working overtime that day.  Ok, you can stop imagining now.

Wasn’t that an exciting thought exercise?  Don’t you feel invigorated and full of life?  Or do you wish Smokey wouldn’t prevent office fires?

Why do so many of us go through the above-described rigamarole on a daily basis? Oh, that’s right: to earn money.  What is money?  Oh, money is just a fabricated concept created to control the masses?  Yes.  We’re wasting our lives away chasing after something that bears no intrinsic value.  Oh, and meanwhile, the government is in the red to the effect of $16,761,926,495,664.28.  I’m not even sure I know how to say that number.  Sixteen trillion, seven-hundred-sixty-one billion, nine-hundred-twenty-six million, four-hundred-ninety-five thousand, six-hundred-sixty four dollars and twenty eight cents?  Oh, and that’s assuming the deficit is accurately accounted for.  Umm, if you haven’t noticed, most U.S. people’s math “abilities” (and I use the term “abilities” very loosely) leave a lot to be desired.  If I had to put a number on the amount those “abilities” leave to be desired, it would probably be roughly 16,761,926,495,664.28.  Yup, that’s a totally arbitrary number I just tossed out there.  So, what’s my point?  My point is that if money had an intrinsic value, an institution so far in debt that we normal peeps can’t even articulate the number without thinking about it would cease to exist.   By way of example, food has an intrinsic value.  There is only so far in food deficit that a living creature can be before it ceases to exist.  Money, instead, has an instrumental value.

For this money, we waste away our days partaking in mind-numbing tasks that deaden our minds and wither away our bodies.  It’s just a means to an end, right? What’s the end?  A nice house? Okay, I can roll with that.  We need shelter and it’s nice to have an opulent abode.  But, how opulent must it be?  Is it worthwhile to have 80 fucking rooms in a house in which only three to five people reside?  How many times a year do you see those rooms?  How much do you pay to moderate the temperature of said opulent abode (because remember, you live in NJ and seasons are a bitch)?  That’s another x hours you have to spend as a desk slave.

Is this form of existence by design? You bet your likely subpar reproductive organs that it is.  Why? Well, an unoccupied mind is prone to wander and possibly rebel.  Rebellion cannot be tolerated for if the peasants rebel, those in control face a threat.  So, you’re a sneakerhead? Good.  Go work. Deaden your mind.  Occupy your time.  Do all of that so that you can buy sneakers that you rarely wear because you can’t wear sneakers at work.  So, you like wine?  Good.  Go work. Deaden your mind.  Occupy your time.  Do all of that so that you can buy wine that you can barely drink because you can’t drink and drive and you need to drive to get to work to deaden your mind so that you can buy the wine that you can’t drink.  So, you like model trains?  Well, then you’re probably a weirdo.  You get the point.

Most people, because they’re stupid or at least misguided, spend their lives like hamsters running in a wheel thinking that they’re going somewhere but really just carouseling round and round.  I like hamsters; they’re cute, but I don’t want to be one.  I remember before I joined the ranks of other “real worlders,” I raked my brain for invention or get-rich-quick ideas that would free me from oncoming servitude I was facing.  Among my ideas was a pencil that easily fills in the circles on scan-trons.  Brilliant, right? Obviously, I didn’t pull the on switch attached to any of the light bulbs that went off in my brain.  Now, I’m a sheep.  But, even indentured servants work off their debts, right?  What do I want to do with my life? What is my purpose? I don’t know, but I am disgusted with human beings.  I am disgusted with how we destroy our surroundings.  I’m disgusted with how we torture the creatures we share the planet with.  I’m disgusted that some humans go as far as to destroy or abuse their own offspring.  I’m disgusted that we’re programmed to be cogs in a wheel on a rusted machine that isn’t going anywhere.  I’m disgusted.  I AM DISGUSTED. What do I want out of life?  I want to save up enough money (yeah, that instrumental value bullshit)  to buy an avocado plantation outside of the U.S.  That is my plan.  People think I am joking about that, but I’ll be laughing my way into some guacamole (without onions) while you’re stapling your nuts to one of the pieces of your paper mountain just to get a thrill at your boring-ass desk.