Work and no play

My life is set to become a perpetual cycle of getting up and going to work. I'll be working long hours for the next few months and quite possibly, for the remainder of the year. Well that's okay. I have no life to speak of anyway, so what does it really matter if I'm at work for 38 hours a week or 45? All work and no play makes for a dull TwistedTripper. And you want to know what puts the icing on the cake, I get a "field allowance" for my endeavours. Whoopee! I get a whole extra 100 dollars a week, less tax no doubt. Like I said I have no cause for complaint, I have no life!

What else is there for an old Tripper?...My fate will be not so dissimilar to the hippies of an age gone by....swallowed by the corporation. Sucked in and spat out as grumpy old men. Counting dollars to add to a nest egg that may or may not be consumed before one heads off into the deep sleep. My days of debauchery and excess are all but muted, faded by the blackness of amnesia or perhaps dementia. Although that beast of yesteryear lies in wait, hibernating and recouping its strength through winter. Waiting. Silent. Waiting for a lapse in concentration, to reawaken itself, to ignite the flames that are never really extinguishable. Alls I can do is bury it with something else, to smother its ferocity with a level of normality. Such endeavours are probably flawed to begin with, fighting fire with fire is liable to end in tears. Smothering one obsession with another, one plus one equals two? Go figure?

Anyway, I can bide my time with work. I can suffocate in the adrenaline of deadlines. All too familar, impossible deadlines, to drive the beast further into its lair. Why not...wouldn't you?