Fourth entry: My dream job

I go to the supermarket and I try to remember my childhood. I don't think I ever dreamed of working, my mother at dinner time confirms it. We eat what I bought. I have never dreamed of working. I still don't. Most of my life I have only wanted to rest. I cannot tolerate the exploitation of my pastimes, I cannot accept money in return for doing what I love. Both hands over my face. Hot dog and a can of beer, football game and a strawberrie milkshake, I prepare it just as John Bull told me to do in the morning, hours before my visit to the supermarket. His supposedly free spirit recommended me to drink that once a day because I am still young. So I buy a carton of milk when I go to the supermarket while I think of my childhood and that I never dreamed of anything, not even of resting because I was not tired yet. I walk under the trees with a pain in my eyes and head, I left the supermarket with the smell of raw chicken attached to my skin. On the street I walk by a family and the youngest one doesn't understand me when I ask him what he wants to be when he grows up. And at home my mother hears me ask everyone the same question and hears my brother reply that he doesn't know yet. Both hands behind the back of my neck wiping the sweat. The return home is awful, shaky legs, thinking about leaving the bags with the fake food on the pavement. And soon I feared the milk tasted like sewage water. And I realize that my clothes smell like cat fur and that makes me dizzy. And that I put the groceries in plastic bags. And that the family has left in their car and that there is something I would have liked to say louder. To have repeated it over and over again. Because later at night I will regret it and a big crocodile will start eating my whole body, starting with my legs, tearing apart my whole bed, leaving my room like a crime scene in the morning. It will take me by surprise as it did the night before, and in my terror I will once again throw everything that sleeps on the nightstand over the floor. 

But this morning I won't pick up that crap. I won't make the bed and I won't sleep anymore. The supermarket will still be six blocks from the house, the plastic bags will still be floating around me but this time I won't look at them. At some point it will be my turn and I will jump to the best opportunity without thinking about myself. I'll know how to recognize the chance and I'll let a few die. I'll make up a silly dream, I'll intrude on someone else's silly dream and I'll sing better and louder. And I'll sacrifice for the cause and be named employee of the month. And the old will tell the younger ones that they should look to me for inspiration. I'll let more die and keep turning the crank. It will be time for me to hide, laughing, knowing that I never compromised anything I loved. Eventually I will remember the dream and start looking for it inside briefcases with stacks of cash. I'll mitigate the gloomy gut feelings and search with more enthusiasm. And soon I will know very well that it's not in any shop display, in any office, in any amusement park. That this dream is not behind any reception counter, behind any apron, behind any machine. But I'll harvest knowing that I never made my love beg. And then I'll leave too. I will do whatever I want. I'll give a pig in a poke to my superiors. And I'll wonder where I should go now that I'm supposedly free again. I'll take all my love that I had so jealously guarded and drag it through the dirt until it's dry, messy and tired. And then we'll both rest for a while.

And as I write this entry I eat the cereal bar I bought at the supermarket and no longer think about my childhood, about working, the football game or the crocodile patiently waiting for me under my bed, I just feel sorrowful remembering that John Bull didn't hear me when I asked him if it's hard to learn to play harmonica and then he left to take the bus and and that it will be years before we meet again. 

Silly dream, I'll do what I have to do. 

Something that has nothing to do with the subject of today's entry. Just a song I was listening to while writing.