I might as well work every day because my life has no purpose.

Let me go through what happened today: I woke up around 6:20, ate breakfast, morning routine, biked to work. Moved some crazy sort of asexual-but-probably-lesbian nerdy messy lady. It was a long day. I got home at about 7:15. Boiled water for pasta while cutting my hair, ate. Sat in front of my computer thinking about the day a little bit, pondering tomorrow. I spoke to my housemate briefly about the weather, and the Red Sox. Caught some of the game but mostly just bored. I enjoy work but I can't say that moving some lady's shit is the love-of-my-life, my passion.

We give our customers feedback forms. Sometimes I want to give them my own feedback, like, "you know lady, you wouldn't be living alone if you were more flexible and less demanding." Or, "you shouldn't be eating donuts with an ass that big."

I showered and now I'm ready for bed. Less than two hours after arriving home from work I'm ready to sleep. Then more work for 6-10 hours.

Every day it's the same thing. The only differences between the days is that on weekend mornings there is very little traffic. I can cross Route 9 without even looking on Sundays. Also on Saturdays you see a lot of people parked near rivers, bikers, picnicers, and other folks engaged in leisure. I get paid on Fridays, but my paycheck hardly affects my spending--it goes straight in the bank. Even if my account had a one-with-six-zeros of savings, I'd still bank my whole check. I buy groceries and vitamins often. I rarely buy anything else except clothes every once in a while.

That's pretty much the sum of my life. I had ten days off between March and April. When you get older, life slows down. You do the same shit in repetition. I eat ravioli six days a week. I have a system for cooking and and eating them, then cleaning up after. I use the same bowl. Not because I have anxiety about other bowls, but because it's the best for the job. I don't have friends. I have virtually no family except my father who I see about once every two weeks. I have no religion. I don't believe any of this has any meaning. I'm just trying to get through life. I intend to destroy myself when I turn fifty, not because I believe in destruction or that it has any meaning at all. Nor do I revel in the anti-meaning of an arbitrary date. I used to relish that irony however. Now the only reason I will die on the eighth of May, 2028 is because I've resolved to do so. When you resolve to go to work in the morning you really don't need any reasons. You just go without thinking about it because you've resolved to. Of course you could come up with some fairly easily--need to go work so I can get paid, keep my job, etc. You could think of a million reasons not to go. On your first day of work, you need to tell yourself, "I gotta get to work early and on-time because this is a new job and I need money, want to make a good impression." But after a few years, you don't need to pep-talk yourself every morning. Well I've pondered the destruction of my 50 year old body literally for three years now--and one could argue, I've pondered it since I was 14 (when I first became enamored with the poem) just on a subconscious level. That I love the words so intensely proves that I understand their meaning viscerally. I don't relish the comedy of a chosen, acceptedly meaningless date. I've learned to envision my life as ending at 50 by rote.