The Same Old

The 9 to 5 grind. Paycheck to paycheck. Every dollar spent outside your margin is a calculated risk. A date. A dart. A drink. All money is spent knowing that it’s money needed to keep living and paying for the things that keep you safe and sane. The thing is, women and drinks also keep you sane. Too much can drive you crazy, but thankfully, you can’t afford that.

There is also a monotony to comfort, don’t get me wrong. You worked hard to afford nice things, and now you have them. You’re not rich or wealthy by any means, but that annual two-week vacation doesn’t hurt the books, though it’s little to look forward to, and impossible to capture. “The regularness of life,” as Moltisanti would say. It gets boring, but it’s what you work for. There was a day when the image of you sitting down with a drink on an open day was your drive. You wanted to work yourself into the ground so you could earn that quiet. But you weren’t thinking about the imbalance you were creating. Your work ethic creates a kinetic precedence that your body can’t drop cold turkey. So that regularness stings when it happens. It fucks you up, but at least you’re at a stage when you can afford that drink, and hopefully you’ve got a woman.

Either way, monotony makes you sadder than it should.

Paycheck to Paycheck is like being neck-deep in a wave pool. And Regularness is a lazy river. In both cases, you get sick of the same old shit.

Give me something new.