It wasn't even whiskey inside the glass on my desk. It was Pepsi. Diet Pepsi.
It had been a hard day--one where the sirens of desertion were difficult to resist. I had deserved a nice, hard drink. In fact, I had deserved about a dozen hard drinks.
But alas, here I am with my caffeinated, calorie-free carbonated beverage. It offered me no condolences, gave me no detectable buzz. It was just necessary in order to have the energy to run a few miles and still make it to the shower afterwards. Plus, I couldn't afford the extra calories in liquor.
It was a bearable compromise, much like the past twelve hours. I would have much rather been on the other side of the world, using my time for something worth a damn. But in order to keep up with the payments on things I didn't really need in the first place, I had to sit at the end of a desk, amidst a pile of tangled cords, and word-smithing the latest CYA email.
It seems to be a traceable trend---bearing compromises. A few more years of this and I'll just be another misled fool, wandering pathlessly through the ring of perpetual need and temporary fulfillment.
It's so easy, slipping into the wonderland of obligations, mirrored in the sullen eyes of fading youth. Eventually, the mind will grow numb to feeling lost, accustomed to the greyness that colors only between the lines.
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