The Sunday Evening Lament

The fun things are always what cost us dear in the end. It’s all he could do but bring this to the front of his mind every so often. Niggling somewhere deep within but that wasn’t the only thing. Aches and strange tingles filled his body coming and going with not enough rest to fully recover, but this time it felt different. Knowing that he was degenerating and he contributed to cell destruction and sometimes it was as if the body knew and would never forgive him. He found himself juggling between two mind-sets. Stay healthy, do everything in your power to live as long as possible even if it means a lot of sacrifice. Or no, over-indulge, do exactly what you want when you want to do it, there’s no way to live a fuller life. Both were right and both were flawed by design- that is because there is no fix for death. That wasn’t the only thing. He yearned for something more, something else to do, to fritter money on that would make him feel great but he only found himself in the same places later bemoaning them. This is what people did. This is what people liked doing and this is what society saw as the conventional way to meet other people. What choice could he have? Draw the curtains and sit on a rocking chair counting down the minutes, hours, nights. Or maybe lead a 50 year life plan working every waking hour to have enough paper to buy a yacht, a tennis court, a villa. No. he was not a career orientated young man. Money was a man-made concept and it tickled him in a way unlike the hangovers to think that this is what decides who gets what opportunity with their life. Who gets to own something over someone else regardless of need or deserving. Besides, spending the one precious commodity to us in exchange for numbers on a screen was all in an Oasis song “You could wait for a lifetime to spend your days in the sunshine”. it was called ugh… cigarettes and alcohol, and there lying flat on the bed with his head against the wall in what can’t have been good for his spine he’d come full circle in thought.

The opposite sex, a man pays for everything and it is applauded by womankind as a great act of chivalry, get the switch machine out, I’m being chivalrous! But a man gets paid more and some sort of monstrosity has been committed, where does this extra money come from? Though that was the tiniest and least meaningful of the little hypocrisies found in gender role and wouldn’t be thought of in much detail this afternoon.  Besides, everyone likes having things bought for them. It does seem like just pass and parcel of the “equality when it suits me” mantra a lot of ladies have developed. It’s a queer state of affairs really when considering the arrogance and rotten attitude of some women with regard to men. Like a 19^th century view of women by men. Perhaps we’re all very similar after all. 

Grant Hardie