I am a whore

This is a basic fact – to solve your problems, you first have to acknowledge them. To right any wrongs, to correct any flaws, one must first recognise the existence of said blemishes.

I for one have come to the central conclusion that I am nothing but a poor, miserable Zimnbabwean whore.

See, one thing about life is that most of us end up doing what we have to do to survive, instead of surviving how we want to. We make compromises along the way, we discard what we thought to be unshakable principles and basically sell ourselves out.

I believe that instead of doing anything to get paid, it’s better to do something I would pay to do. No more getting up in the morning, dreading the day, mourning the loss of freedom and individuality almost all our current jobs demand.

It’s time to take back the day, motherfeckers, and start living like we want to, not how our employment contracts demand.

From now on I am going to create – every chance I get. I am gonna play that bass guitar til my fingers burn. I am gonna write immense bullshit until my keyboard bleeds. I am going to sketch, I’m gonna cook epic feasts, I’m gonna do all the things I know I can, but almost never do because I’m too tired from fecking working.

Yes, from now on, my job will be something I do, not who I am. And my job will end at five, and the rest of the time I will be me.

Crazy, conflicted, creative, completely fecked up me. I will be relaxed, I will be stress-free and most of all, I will be happy.

I will never be a colony again.