FIVE DAYS A WEEK

My life was out of control. Being out of control became the theme of my existence. I was hungry for peace, hungry to find and know who I am. My purpose, my reason for living. So far my life had been unfamiliar and cloudy like an empty glass of milk. My glass was empty. It was never filled with what was healthy and nourishing, it was tainted. Tainted by the liquor of life and I had drank too much.

Morning would come too soon and on time. I would again be faced with going to work. I would join the gathering, moving in like cattle at a place that most of us hated to go, but had to. A place that forced us to share our being. Forced us to share it with people who we would otherwise had never known. It was the constant five days a week contact that provided a comfort of believing that maybe we do actually know each other. Each of us served our purpose for eight to ten hours a day. Ideas thrown in a bucket of insecurities, personalities and sorrows. Along with that our education, experience and ego’s to generate and create the bottom line. For five days we would sell our souls and love it or pretend we did. Smile with gratitude and let their god validate our reason for being here. It was a check or direct deposit into our souls. It became so additive that it would make us forget that we all wanted to be somewhere else, doing something else, with someone else. The cold reality is we were conditioned to forget that we all have been boiled down to a monetary value. No more and maybe less.

We had two days to regroup and convince ourselves that this is the way of life. Forget the hell of the week and enjoy this paradise of the week ends. We screamed at the joy of our freedom, hating it because it will be short lived; Monday would come again.

LL Walton, Author

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