I feel hypocritcal, walking to work. Or walking to the job, I mean. The job is only a small piece of the work really. It brings a touch of income, for now anyway at least, the job. And then when I return from the job, I have a tiny nap, and back to the real work I go, the writing, the reading, the contemplating, the programming here and there.
I should have been more specific, my advice on how to escape the drudgery of a 9-to-5 job. Learn how to program. Computers are the way, to automate your income. Build a website, make some software, coding, build an app., something. Sell some stuff, allowing the computer to be your shop window,—the website—along your employees, the automation. And make your own business, your own job. That's how you escape, from having to rely on others for your sustenance, for your existence really, creation from nothing.
To-night it will maybe rain. But still I'll walk to work. Or to the job I mean I'll walk. But even if it wasn't raining, I'd be the only person out walking anyway. In the future I feel I live. Everyone is in their car. The cars are on the roads. Hyperspeed this all is, zooming from one distance to another, like tube-tunnels. What's outside of the tube-tunnels,—the roads and the cars, and the buildings-of-destination, inside the tube-tunnels—that's just space out there, outside the tube-tunnels. It's wasteland. I feel so primitive walking on the side of a road. Still out in the bush I am. The people in their cars look out at me. Their stares feel so distant, like looking into a dream not quite remembered.
Let me say here, I'm reminded, that all the opinions expressed here on this here website are exclusively my own, and they are in no way at all the opinions of my employer. It's terrible, I know. Probably, my employer has no opinions at all even. It's a fairly brainless job. But, I must realize, I am there. So what does that mean? That's right. But I am working.