This keeps popping up in my head
I keep picturing this in my head.
It is a guy, we'll call him Bob, laying on teh couch. He has plaid patterned flannel shorts on, he has one hand tucked in behind his head under the pillow, the other oen going down his side. He is wearing a white t-shirt, a 5 oclock shadow on his face, a bag of potato chips resting on teh couch right around his waist. He is comfortable, but looks incredibly bored. You can see the light from the tv bouncing aroudn his face, changing it a bit here nad there, and he just watches blankly, as if not really paying attention at all.
See Bob has this coroprate job, he is wearing the suits to work, he is carrying a briefcase, he walks among the suits in the city, looks up at the sky skrapers, and the little blue pieces of sky in between. He goes in the morning, leaves in the evening, day in adn day out. He hustles to do reports, and pull numbers, and go to meetings, and send emails, and have conference calls, and pull more reports, and have face to face meetnigs, do paper work, and so his days went. This is the life he wanted for himself, or so he thought. This is what he had worked through college for, busted his ass at the internships, and shitty low paying entry level jobs for. To works his way up the ladder, and "be somebody"
He is there now. Sitting pretty, right where he was shooting for, and he is stuck on teh couch. Last night, he met up with an old friend of his, and in the conversation, the question was asked, "are you happy?" He answered the question without truly thinking about it, and he woke up this morning with the same question bouncing around his head. He couldnt shake it, and he couldnt forget the words of his friend bestowed on him the night before. "Bob, if you're not living, you're dying. What makes you feel alive?"
So now, here is is, starting blankly at the talking video box, wondering to himself, "is this it? Am I happy? Is this what I worked for?"
It is a guy, we'll call him Bob, laying on teh couch. He has plaid patterned flannel shorts on, he has one hand tucked in behind his head under the pillow, the other oen going down his side. He is wearing a white t-shirt, a 5 oclock shadow on his face, a bag of potato chips resting on teh couch right around his waist. He is comfortable, but looks incredibly bored. You can see the light from the tv bouncing aroudn his face, changing it a bit here nad there, and he just watches blankly, as if not really paying attention at all.
See Bob has this coroprate job, he is wearing the suits to work, he is carrying a briefcase, he walks among the suits in the city, looks up at the sky skrapers, and the little blue pieces of sky in between. He goes in the morning, leaves in the evening, day in adn day out. He hustles to do reports, and pull numbers, and go to meetings, and send emails, and have conference calls, and pull more reports, and have face to face meetnigs, do paper work, and so his days went. This is the life he wanted for himself, or so he thought. This is what he had worked through college for, busted his ass at the internships, and shitty low paying entry level jobs for. To works his way up the ladder, and "be somebody"
He is there now. Sitting pretty, right where he was shooting for, and he is stuck on teh couch. Last night, he met up with an old friend of his, and in the conversation, the question was asked, "are you happy?" He answered the question without truly thinking about it, and he woke up this morning with the same question bouncing around his head. He couldnt shake it, and he couldnt forget the words of his friend bestowed on him the night before. "Bob, if you're not living, you're dying. What makes you feel alive?"
So now, here is is, starting blankly at the talking video box, wondering to himself, "is this it? Am I happy? Is this what I worked for?"
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