a chinese takeaway
i had a dream a chinese guy was watching me go to the toilet in a fancy restaurant. i told him the longer he watched, the longer i’d take. not sure what the dream meant - maybe a watched pot never boils? not sure why he had to be chinese either, but anyway.
life in my town is boring. there’s nowhere to go after work, nowhere to go on the weekends.
we all know each other, heard each other’s stories a hundred times, so anything new instantly becomes gossip - true or not.
work’s the same. clock in, clock out. progress is glacial, counted in epochs. even the interruptions are predictable.
i honestly don’t know what to do.
it’s like i’ve had this major breakthrough - i can see reality for the first time, and i crave to work on myself. but the lack of stimulation here is stifling.
it’s like standing in the middle of a blazing salt lake in summer - no horizon, no shade, just oven-heat pressing down on me. if i run, i’ll collapse within minutes. if i walk, i’ll never reach the shore.
i know i need to stop examining myself - that’s what made me a prick in the first place - but it’s hard in a place like this.
i get why that chinese guy was pissed off.