Every now and then, there comes to be a respite in my monotonous day-to-day routine. These respites tend to take up large chunks of a month or several months. One of the upsides of not being a part of the 9 to 5 grindstone. These breaks end up being in different seasons but they usually all have the same mood. Gratefulness with an inescapable hint of melancholy. As the days drag on and each one tends to meld into each other, they all take on a similar tone of the preceding day. My previous breaks have placed me within jobs of menial labor, doing irritating tasks given to me by condescending superiors. By the end of these days, I feel an overbearing resentment at the values espoused by these superiors and how myopic and shallow they really are. There is a quickening of the pulse at the thought of causing anarchy, misrule, and overall chaos in this establishment with zero repercussions. If that day ever comes I will watch from afar with a devilish grin while their world burns into irreparable cinders.
On these breaks, I tend to think and have feelings of wanderlust. Thinking of places I’d rather be but can’t right now for some reason or another. I try to block out thoughts of my contemporaries as my mind drifts to thinking about what they are up to at that moment. This may continue everyday for a span of weeks unless I can find some other meaningless distraction. Being that my breaks tend to be unremarkable, I stare out my window and breath an unconscious sigh of relief as they come to a close. I know that there will be some order and stability asserted once again. However, I know that this stability will become monotonous and I will wish for another respite.
Breaks are a double-edged sword and I keep stabbing the wrong thing with it. Myself.