Comfortably Numb

Gotta do some thing?

Today? That would be too immediate, no thinking time. But, gotta do something none the less.

Tomorrow? Absolutely, cause it never comes. Ha, ha! Self defeating.

Gotta do something.

With my life? This far? Thus far? Make it count? Like we all want it to. Like we are all told to. Do something? Anything? And, what you love, of course. Naturally. Have it all.

Gotta do something.

You know, as soon as I work that out, I'll be on it. Be amazing? Do amazing things. Be some thing.

Have a plan. Do any of us?

The thought of going into my law office again tomorrow makes walking out into the traffic look attractive. You know, not really, I'm kidding. It's not the job itself, it's just the repetitive nature of the beast.  The same thing every week. We all get our very own version of groundhog day.

And they are all so earnest, so serious, so full of their own importance, so believing in what they are doing, my corporate colleagues. You know, like what they are doing is important? A lawyer does something important? Now you really are shitting the world. It's just the capitalist system making a few very rich. They are not solving world hunger, or pollution, or the health of humanity. Well, maybe the health of rich white folk, I guess it's helping them.

The young pretty males in their, shall we say, well fitting suit pants are, perhaps, arguably doing the most worthwhile service. Perfect male specimen Patrick, sexy-arsed Hugh, beautiful-penis Andrew (yes, I looked. Well, what's a gay boy to do when he stands next to you at the urinal flopping out in full view?) are all doing their bit towards the ascetics of the place. The world.

Masculinity. Handsome young men in suits can never be a bad thing. That's the best I can say for corporate life.

You know there is nothing wrong with law, per se, (that expression is so lame and so naff that I knew I just had to use it in this post some where) but how did I get caught up in it, I think as I look at my million dollar view over Port Phillip Bay, like that makes up for it.

Yeah, the view is great, there is no denying it.

I'm only the finance guy, you all know that. So, I'm practically a fake amongst this lot. I don't even fit into the world I'm slotted into. The law only looks after lawyers, you have to be making money for the firm for it to give a shit about you. If you are not a fee earner you are rubbish.

So, me? What am I doing here? How did I get stuck in an office on the 42nd floor at the risk of repetitive brain injury? You know, it fucken beats me.

I was supposed to be a writer, an artist, a free thinker, but I settled. Well, I didn't actually settle and this is where the hard bit to understand comes in, it was just that nobody told me it was an option. Law, medicine, business, arts, sure, no probs, like the world is prepackaging itself into beige, beige and beiger. The things you don't know that you don't know. The things that you wish you'd known.

Look to the stars young man, let your imagination run wild. Who was saying that to me?

"You didn't do as well as expected, this is the course you got into."

I drew. I wrote poems. I wrote great dialogue. I wrote stories and plays.

I wrote my first picture book when I was in grade 3. It was read to the grades 1 and 2s.

What happened to all of that? I was thinking as I walked home.

I left work at 5pm, instead of 6pm, which I never do. There were people every where all scrambling to get home, I must miss this at 6pm? WTF? The surfs, the minions, the fodder of the capitalist system, all scratching and biting for their place.

I went and saw Perry and we went to the movies and saw Social Network and we both got stoned and I stopped thinking about all of that.