Writing simply because you are bored is the quickest way to help others lose interest in the same fashion you managed to do so yourself. There is nothing in the plane I am on right now that will amuse me. Also, this migraine combined with nausea will end up making me ignore my seat neighbor's loud sleep as I run to the bathroom to empty my stomach in a blissful of acid vomit. A single serving barfing bag won't do this time, as I plan to empty my insides of both food and soul at once.
As I reflect on what made me feel this way, my thought process departs from physical agents. It wasn't what I ate, drank or snorted. It wasn't even the insanity of my job, nor how taxing it can be on my fragile spirit. As is frequently the case, a combination or factors conspired to have me want to reach down my throat with my bare arm and pull stomach and intestines out my mouth. Once again, germane amongst these factors is the inevitable "moving on" syndrome commonly affecting adult life.
Everybody is moving on with their lives. Having kids, buying a house, getting promoted, traveling as couples... Cars, washing machines, strollers, ties, diapers...
As normal people get their life in order, as they push their existence in the direction of their choosing, the inevitable process of losing them forever goes on the same way blood invades the clothes of the wounded.
Work has a numbing effect that helps throw these feelings of abandonment into oblivion. Work does not enslave, it liberates. It does not pollute the soul, it purifies the mind. It provides us with a false yet valuable sense of accomplishment that will allow us to go on with our purposeless lives, essential for emotional survival.
Thank you for providing me with the circular running wheel that, save a few moments of painful sanity, keeps me thinking I am going somewhere. Without that, without religion's promise of a better afterlife, without a future or a reason, I wouldn't have made it this far alive.
Another glass of scotch will do the trick. Who cares about this nauseating headache? Scotch will once again come to my rescue. I need to be sedated in preparation for the open chest surgery that is life.
I raise my glass to you; its very content.