The path of someone's life is really equivalent of how successful is she at her professional life? Or how frequently she go out with friends? Or even how many friends does she have?
I don't understand how can one see trought this acid, amargurous and angustious days that permeate our daily routine. Routine will always be the crucial point to lead us to automatic. The silent automatic.
Wake up every day at 6 am, do your matinal chores. Go to work. Do everything you did, but in reverse. Wait anxiously until friday finally comes.
Maintain a social life, go out on a saturday night and drink until you doesn't remember your name anymore. Make some friends, like, come on, life is short. You never know when you are going to die, right? You cannot say if it's tomorrow or 50 years after this third shot of pure alcohol. You don't even care anymore if it hurts to swallow.
Life is mediocre, like its society. So complex that it hurts to think about the future, even though everything is extremely limited.
Maybe life is a little more interesting because we're convicts, senteced to death in every corner.
