A Day Like Any Other

I was walking along, minding my own business, not doing any harm to anyone, leading the life of a pure gobshyte, thinking about abundance, minding my own business, thinking about abundance, thinking about abundance, when to my horror I suddenly became aware that I was trapped in the mind-created drama of my own puny existence. This would be my new drama I realised – my new drama would be me realising to my horror that I was trapped in the mind-created drama of my own existence.

 

It was a day, a day like any other day, a day of getting trapped in one meaningless mind-created drama after another, a day like any other, a day like any other, a day of hope and despair, a day of worry and fear, a day in the life of, a day in the life of a. As I trudged along mysterious hooded figures came up to me offering me advice about the path that lay ahead of me. “Never make any bad life-choices,” one hooded figure whispered hoarsely to me, jumping at his chance to impart the appropriate words of wisdom, “whatever you may do, make sure that you never make any bad life-choices…” As I continued to make my way down the path the mysterious figures continued to offer me advice, so that I could be better prepared what lay ahead.

 

“Beware of Satan and his ways,” said the next advice-giver, an elderly priest in his vestments, “whatever you do, you must always be on the lookout for Satan and his filthy enticements…”

 

The next was a mathematician with sad eyes and a great bushy beard, his pockets full to overflowing with the tools of his trade, compasses and slide-rules and pencils and the like, “Remember always to carry the one, my boy” he told me in wheezy melancholic tones, “whatever you do always remember  to carry the one.”  Another was a bright and breezy positive thinking specialist with a beaming smile, bow tie and a general air of exuberance. “Remember always to switch the negative for a positive, good buddy!” he said, “remember always to switch the negative for a positive.

 

After the positive thinker came a sly fox-faced CBT therapist with shifty-looking eyes and sharp little teeth who sidled sneakily up to me. When it was his turn he also told me some lame-ass crap.

 

One after another the advice-givers came. One after another, one after another. This was the road of my life I realised, this was the road of my life and I was travelling down it towards an unknown destination. This was the journey of my life. This was a day like any other. One after another the advice-givers came, each one uttering advice that was more preposterous than the advice preceding it. It was a solemn ceremony and I was bound to endure it. Endure it I had to. Each advice-giver was stupider than the one who had come before him. The last of the sacred advice-givers was a man in an expensive suit with wraparound silver sunglasses, slicked-back hair and a winning smile. He looked as if he was in an advert for something. “When you get to the fork in the road take it’, he said to me with a wink. “When you get to the fork in the road take it…”

 

It was a day like any other and I was trapped in a mind-created drama. “Oh for God’s sake,” I cried out, my head full to the brim with nonsense. I didn’t even know what I was talking about. I never knew what I was talking about. I was leading the life of a pure gobshyte: sometimes I annoyed people, sometimes I didn’t annoy them; sometimes I grinned like a fool, sometimes I didn’t grin; sometimes I went the one way and sometimes I went the other. I was living a life like any other, I was living a life like any other. Sometimes I thought the one thing, sometimes I thought the other, sometimes I got trapped in one mind-created drama, sometimes in the other.

 

It was a mind-created drama just like any other, I realised – nothing too remarkable about it, nothing too extreme. The advice-givers had all left the scene – probably they didn’t want to be around when the shit really did hit the fan, I said to myself. They don’t mind giving advice for sure, with all the pomp and ceremony that it entails, but you can bet your ass that there will be no sight of those old gobshytes once the action starts! They will be gone and you’ll have to face it all on your own.

 

There will be no trace of the dirty bastards, no trace at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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