You got the blueprint in your head, the dreamscape in your heart, the unquenchable thirst in your bones.
You’re tired of living as a dignified paragon of self-moderation. You think a touch of Ebola is a blessing-and-a-half compared to spending another minute as a cubicle-dwelling non-entity. In fact, despite your mannerly appearance (your conscious compliance to become a lonely nothing), you’d like nothing more than to shake things up, to call attention to yourself, to run around giggling like an elf and go too far and feel like a goddamn boss.
Maybe it was because the car in front of me was leaving too much space in front of him; or maybe because it was the fifth road traffic collision of the day; or maybe because there was nothing playing on the radio except that stupid Bastille song with the chanting monks going “EH-EH-OH! EH-EH-OH!” which is probably the lamest chant in chanting monk history, which then forced me to turn to NPR. (more…)