There Are No Mondays In My Life

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

There are no Mondays in my life.

In my calendar, bought for fifty rubles, of course, there are Mondays, and if Monday falls on the twenty-fifth of May in the country, then in my whole house, in my country and on the screen of my spouse's mobile phone, of course, the twenty-fifth of May appears.

There are no Mondays in my life in the lowest, vulgar and vile sense of the word. Mondays, when the printer fails, and a lovely mood and fresh perception, saturated with freshness on Saturday night, is overshadowed by the realization that there is a whole working week ahead of non-working printers, copiers, trips in a minibus with a disgruntled face and other, and other similar failures. Mondays, in whose discomfort they begin to live at about four o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday. Mondays that turn the weekend into a hell of agonizing anticipation of the inevitable. Mondays, who suck out the soul with their approach, and instructed, notify about their occupation by the most disgusting thing in the world, ringing an alarm clock, dissecting the virginity of the early morning and wedging, like a splinter, into peacefully sleeping, unsuspecting brains.

It took a long time before Mondays ceased to be associated with something unbearably disgusting for me. Here I am sitting naked on the bed - it’s easier and more interesting for me to write - perched my laptop on my bare knees. I can feel the warming bottom of my beloved car: in order to ensure the smooth functioning of the computer system, processes occur every microsecond that are unlikely to ever be able to grasp my mind. However, I am blissfully content with the smooth surface of the black keys - I love their uneven, muffled tapping when my fingers touch them in search of ways to release my innermost thoughts. It is inconceivable nonsense for me to shout at my laptop or to punch him right in the bull's-eye. He helps me. He is my friend.

I wake up with blissful anticipation around dawn. Fortunately, it brightens early in the summer, and I can avoid shameless exploitation of tungsten filaments. I readily rush to work on Sunday - a job that I see as my great mission, not a neck strap.

I have wondered more than once why we so often assume the role of our own slave owners. What motivates us when we call our boss a rapist, when, in fact, the scourge of the overseer, who determines which side we will step in this second, fits perfectly into our hand - after all, he belongs to us, so we made it with all the dedication skillfully and filigree.

Discipline is not compulsion. Coercion means no choice. Discipline implies a goal. As soon as we take away from ourselves the right to choose, any goal, any meaning disappears. The desire to run disappears - sorry! - go. The urge to crawl disappears. And now we no longer go to work, but crawl, having formed one hundred and twenty deaths. The job we hate. But then - oh, thank you, my favorite cynical public on the social network - we remember that there are only forty years left to work, and this is not so much compared to eternity.

How do you know that this job is not yours? Very simple. Ask yourself the question: why am I doing this? There are many reasons why any job is worth doing. However, if the first answer that pops up in your head like a clown on a spring from a magic box is money, be sure that doing your job, you are moving away from happiness at the speed of light - and from financial freedom, respectively. Paradoxical, isn't it?

There are stalls across the street from my house. The stalls sell cat food, pastries and newspapers. After some time (usually a couple of months, and at best, six months), a dark, shiny and opaque film smelling of glue is hung on the stalls and everything inside is altered. The owner changes - the content of the stall changes. After a certain short period of time, the process is repeated. Entrepreneurs burn out without having time to recoup their costs. It is impossible to become rich by directing the vector of your goal to banknotes and ingots.

The only way to financial stability and solvency is the desire to understand what the consumer needs, not yourself. The desire to improve our world, no matter how cliché-banal it sounds. The desire to bring benefit to humanity - and then the world will pay a hundredfold.

The world gladly accepts each of us in the feather bed of its embrace. The feather bed is as soft as a pillow, which my bare shoulders touch at this very moment.

Choose this.