Madness

"That question led me on to another: What exactly is madness?

First, people aren't in mental institutions because they continue to be socially productive. If you are capable of getting in to work at 9:00 a.m. and staying until 5:00 p.m., then society does not consider you incapacitated. It doesn't matter if, from 5:01 p.m. until 8:59 a.m. you sit in a catatonic state in front of the television, indulge in the most perverted sexual fantasies on the internet, stare at the wall, blaming the world for everything and feeling generally put upon, feel afraid to go out into the street, are obsessed with cleanliness or a lack of cleanliness, suffer from bouts of depression and compulsive crying. As long as you can turn up for work and do your bit for society, you don't represent a threat. You're only a threat when the cup finally overflows and you go out into the street with a machine gun in your hand, like a character in a child's cartoon, and kill fifteen children in order to alert the world to the pernicious effects of Tom and Jerry. Until you do that, you are deemed to be normal."

From Veronica Decides To Die by Paulo Coelho

A dangerous situation for sure. But it is the way most of us live our lives. Grinding away for 8 hours a day and 45 years, if you have the stamina. No wonder we all go mad. Who came up with these rules?

If the people you work with seem "normal", beware. The truth is most people hate their jobs, do not respect their bosses, and feel no connection to the company they work for. They spend eight hours a day playing a role that strips them of dignity and their soul. When they go home, some get "normal" - TV, dinner, bed. Surrounded by off- white walls and beige carpets.

Others live in madness, twisted and tortured by what they have to do to buy bread. They drink, they do drugs, they get violent, they get catatonic. And in the time between the end of the work day and the beginning of the next, the madness marinates and intensifies, only to be camouflaged the next day in phony smiles and talk of the weather. Over time, the madness grows and becomes more rancid, eventually overcoming the personality of the worker bee to the point of dedicated dysfunction.

Which is madness really, though? 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., or 5:01 p.m. to 8:59 a.m.?

I say 9 to 5. Down on the killin' floor. And you agree. Shit, man I've had jobs that almost caused me to hyperventilate on my commute. My mind was so fucked up trying to understand exactly why I was doing what I was doing - so fucking foreign to my soul - that steering into a concrete abutment seemed like a better option. But I kept miscalculating the angle. 

One of the strangest periods of my life was when I suddenly decided to become a bartender around the age of fifty. No fucking experience whatsoever. Took a one week course to learn how to mix a hundred drinks, got my little certificate, and went out on the road to apply for jobs. Randomly picking restaurants and bars, I'd pull into the parking lot, shut the car down and begin to gag. I was so fucking nervous I would gag for a minute or two - never puked though, 'cause I'm a real man - then I would pump up my chest, and walk into the bar and go into my shtick. The process was the same everywhere I went and believe me, I must have walked into 25 different places. Amazing I survived it. And all in the pursuit of meaningful employment.

But I digress. Work is madness for sure. Working for a living is a bizarre thing and a great way for the rich and powerful to keep you under their thumb. You make just enough to get by, so you have to keep working. Hamster on a wheel, baby. The 1% got you right where they want you and that's the way they like it. That way they can rape and pillage the country to fatten up their already bloated bank accounts, and there's nothing you can do about it because you gotta keep your head down and your feet shuffling forward.

Many of us decide to introduce madness into our after-work hours. Partying with abandon. Otherwise we go insane. Cute, huh?

Nothing better than finding a friendly bar, a comfortable place that reeks of lunacy and making that place home.

Your ultimate goal is to avoid like the plague what is considered normal behavior. In big ways, in little ways. You can sneak nips onto the job. That's a small victory but very satisfying. It's fun being 76% buzzed as the boss explains your next assignment to you in serious tones. Try not to burst into maniacal laughter. Is this guy for real? Jesus.

Wow, this post was all over the place. Not really focused, not really that good. But fuck it. I'm a little pissed off and I was listening to a rockin' CD as I attacked the keyboard.

You can't have everything.