Was forced to skip another essential gym session last night,
which ended up with many of my other frustrations bubbling up and almost escaping my lips.
But nope.
Gotta be quiet, gotta lie.
To keep the peace.
She's happy so long as she's not the reason I'm upset.
Although she probably knows it,
if I make any subtle hints that she was a contributing factor,
then she gets really upset,
and the whole conversation will once again,
revolve only around her.
I appreciate what she does for me,
for the family, I fucking do.
And I hate the idea that I even have to add this goddamn obvious caveat.
I see where the family's going.
I see it with my dad who's body is falling apart and STILL he has to work,
and not just work,
but worry about losing his fucking job after dedicating his life to the company.
And oh no, it's not like he's earning a lot based on seniority, nope.
To show its 'appreciation',
because of his age,
they've got him on a yearly contract that may or may not be renewed each year.
For lower pay.
Motherfuckers.
Anyway I digress.
Besides the standard family stuff,
there are a few things that are really important to me,
to the point where it falls short of obsession (I hope).
Finally being fit,
and having a six-pack and a big but cut figure (shut the fuck up).
I'm 33 this year and I feel the fucking clock ticking.
Having enough money to NOT have to get into the office.
Work begins in like, three weeks.
I have three weeks of free time. And just the thought of stepping into the office again,
getting up in the morning,
putting on the prerequisite attire,
day in and day out,
while having the spectre of job loss looming over me the whole time.
Just the fucking thought of it.
It's not exactly the work that I hate.
I see the path laid out.
Keep doing the same thing with minor variations for days and weeks and months and years,
with pay increments here and there,
never enough to be fully comfortable though... never enough.
Get an apartment,
worry even more about losing job to make payments...
begin cutting corners in terms of ethics or self-respect...
Keep doing the same thing over and over again.
Until a thing grey carpet covers my head,
until my skin is like the old trees in the oldest parks,
until my back hurts constantly,
until it becomes a struggle to walk.
And have the worry about making ends meet become more intense.
Without my youth and strength,
what will happen if I fall sick?
If she falls sick?
If something happens. A fire maybe. A minor accident even.
No. Fuck no.
If she won't support me,
hey, that's fine.
I still have to do it.
For the little one. For myself. And yes, even for her too, even if she doesn't fucking appreciate it.
Any new plans for businesses,
keep it to yourself.
Got complaints?
Blog about it. Don't whine like a little bitch.
Pretend pretend pretend.
Set a time for the gym,
and be OK with her getting mildly upset that you left even when she wanted your help with something at the time (which, by the way, is most of the time, at all times of the day).
It must be done.
If we were climbing a mountain,
we'd never get to the summit doing things her way.
And what's worse, she'd probably complain about never reaching the summit despite the many fucking breaks we had to take.
Nope.
This must be done.
I'll wind down the fucking chicken business,
and look up what's trending in this shit-hole of a city,
and see if I can make some small change,
before I take another stab at the chicken supply business.
Well enough of that.
