I Never Thought That I Too Can Become A Machine


I talk in the appropriate situations.

I laugh when given cue.

At a gesture or a hint, I react.

I put a smile on my face in front of the people that matter.

But who knows what lurks beneath that smile? Even I don't know.

I occasionally raise my voice up a few octaves and act my age when facing male clients.

But I am not my age. I wish I were. You don't know how hard it is to not be my age when I am.

I mechanically go to work, and mechanically come back home and without realizing it, I've become the product that which I most feared I would be.

I no longer feel the vibe that I once did, that life was full of meaning. Now I feel that nothing holds much meaning, that I'm just going to live my life just the way everyone else does. A normal, plain, conventional life.

I, like the rest of the whole wide world, am just a greyhound, chasing after a mechanical white rabbit. Some push others out of the way to get in front, some get left behind, still running and panting after the rabbit. If not for our vests with numbers on it, nobody can differentiate who we are, except that a lot of dogs are running together.

I was an artist. I loved everything and found joy in the simplest of things. I was abstract and slightly kooky. Now I live each day from paycheck to paycheck, waiting for life to pass me by, soon to reminiscing in my wheelchair in my 60s about the time I wasted on the material things in life. About my very normal, healthy, and spice free life.

So there I go. A normal girl with a normal life.

What more can I want?