Van No.4

Between my bed and office desk, I brace myself with a strong head of optimism; it’s always the same thing, a daily commute of around seven kilometers fueled with favorable what-if’s, but you know as well as I do, I’m never getting off this van.

Keeping my composure helps get me through my day.

Even after muting my forenoon demons, at the end of everyday, I realize how fickle my mind really is; just like that, the thought of mediocrity barges right in and rips apart the sliver of composure keeping me together for the whole week. Red carpet in hand, my thoughts are now in prime position to welcome self-pity and gloom into the circus I call my head.

For me, it’s still Monday.

Coming to the realization that you’re mediocre really changes you; it’s vicious and erratic, relentlessly nipping at your already capsizing willpower like a divine woodpecker.

Take me, for example, I obsess over and inflate the thought of self-importance and attach it to my life; I'm pretty sure it’s an escape from insignificance, a makeshift narrative with a happy ending that’ll keep me going.

Listen, mediocrity has thrown me around my life like a rag doll, and I've allowed it; it tends to normalize self-ridicule. This stuff is practically mental wildfire, it quickly combusts into a need to give penance for all the shit floating around our heads.

Take a seat, its going to be a long week.