Run

Seriously, if you're the kind of person who sees a stranger running and yells "Run, Forrest, run!" like it's clever, you can go ahead and do us all the favor of slitting your fucking throat right now.

Here I stand a few hours away from the world of three walls, endless phone calls, and faces I don’t know. This is what I’m supposed to want security in a cubicle heath insurance a 401K plan and all I want to do is run away screaming.

I always run. It’s what I do. It’s easier than hitting things head on. I’m made nervous by the prospect of security of a real home of my own. A car, insurances, and paid vacations, a nine to five, five days a week hamster wheel.

But I’ll wake before the sun does and I’ll put on that semi casual office appropriate outfit and I’ll get in that still sleeping vehicle listening as it coughs back into life and dig my finger nails into my palms. I’ll still show up every day at the same time. I’ll still smile when spoken to and jot down notes and return to my three walls wishing for death the entire time.

This is what years of preparation lead to? I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be me. Hell I spend most of the day pretending that I’m not. I can’t sleep and the alarm clocks going to go off in a few minutes so there’s no point in trying anymore.

I need a change an escape a dream that never ends. I need sleep.