I think it was flouncing around in a giant fleecy poncho that started it. Or perhaps this article about David ‘wank-stain’ Cameron reviving his Big Society bullshit. Whatever it was I’ve been feeling restless.
I’m not cut out for this shit. I bet you aren’t either. I wake up at 7.30am in the dark; force myself behind the wheel of my little red Nissan Micra still half asleep, to end up sat behind a screen tapping the day away. Email by email. Phone-call by phone-call. Coffee by coffee. Then when the clock hits 5 and the sky is dark once again, I bundle myself, half asleep again, behind the wheel and head home to the extortionately priced flat I pay for but don’t own. I turn on the heating so I can skint myself and line the pockets of Mr Energy. I eat food that costs considerably less to produce than I actually paid for it. I put on pyjamas that were likely sewn together by a hideously underpaid child in Bangladesh with a far harder life than the one I’m moaning about (but still I’m going to moan about it). And I go to bed to get my society-prescribed 8 hours sleep feeling hollow, frustrated and helpless. Repeat process until of pensionable age/death – whichever comes first. How did we get ourselves in this mess? Is this really what we want? And if not then why the fuck aren’t we doing anything about it?
We’re brainwashed into the 9 to 5, drink Starbucks, work hard, do the weekly shop, hate Muslims, refuse to see the reasons behind crime, eat 3 square meals a day, reward yourself with one solitary week in the sun, read tabloids, pay your taxes, glorify soldiers, love the Queen, swear on the bible, save for old age, berate anyone who doesn’t fit into the ideals of David Cameron’s Big Wanky Society and most of all, feel superior because you do all of the above – because that means you’re winning doesn’t it? Well done, pat on the back, you’re doing your duty. I bet Jesus and all of the Conservatives love you.
I’ll be honest; at age 27 the longest I’ve held down a full-time job is about 6 months. I’ve claimed benefits when I could have quite easily worked a job I hated instead – apologies oh virtuous, hardworking taxpayers. I don’t like working. I don’t like the concept of working, it makes me miserable. I want to write and create and be naked under a fleece poncho and eat Christmas pudding for breakfast in April. But society makes me feel bad about that. (Society makes it pretty hard for me to do that, mainly because where the fuck can you buy Christmas pudding in April?). Why should I feel bad about not wanting to adhere to a socialised version of human existence, one that I didn’t choose? It’s not how it’s meant to be. Why should I, or anyone, neglect the most interesting aspects of themselves so they can become a staff number/gynaecologist/washing machine repair person/call-centre monkey instead? So they can buy IKEA furniture and copies of the Daily Mail, obviously.
Here I am, still a troubled teenager at heart – it’s likely I’ll be a troubled teenager at heart until I die – born into a world that I don’t fit into and trying to fathom a way out. Because let’s be honest – I like my free healthcare and 24 hour Tesco’s and the fact I can purchase David Attenborough’s Planet Earth DVD’s from Cash Convertors for £4.80 and watch them from the comfort of my (landlords) sofa with the heating on while eating dangerous amounts of (overpriced but delicious) cheese. I’m used to it. It’s how I’ve been socialised. But it’s really not worth letting my soul be sucked out day-by-day by capitalism.