Study. Work. Create. Don't think. Get busy. It makes you feel well. Doing nothing is doing ill. It's not worthy thinking too much. Maybe this what they call destiny. And destiny is not written at all, but sketched and it's up to you erasing some lines and rewrite them. It demands much patience aiming a goal, an ideal that is converted to personal satisfaction and therefore, in a new sensation of happiness. But it lasts too much and it's tiring. So don't think. Study, work, create, keep the mind busy. Alienation is a shelter. This way you don't think bullshit. This way you don't keep self-destructing. This way you conserve that reserve of hopes that your anxiety and desperation have been consuming as long as you get older.
Then she got off of the car dressed elegantly, put her sunglasses and lit a cigar. But immediately the noise of the bus stopping at the bus station suddenly woke up her to her ordinary and banal reality. She had got a place to sit down doing so much effort and remained there, compressed between the window and the obese lady witch blubber worked as a pillow. It was what she had thought and her siren of morality sounded in her conscience, censoring her because the word “blubber” sounds extremely offensive when related to an obese person. She would call her “fat”, but the siren of morality would condemn her even more. She was getting pissed off of this constant self-vigilance that repressed her all the time, obligating her to think about the etymology of every single word in order to not be condemned as a terrible human being full of despicable prejudices.
She no longer felt free to be the one she was. She felt someone molded. In an informal conversation with an acquainted guy she met in college that called her attention, not only by his physic but also for having an “air” of cult person, she heard a subtle moral lesson when she used the word “blacken”. That dishearten her tremendously. She was told that blacken means “to turn black”, in a negative direct relation to black people. She wasn't racist, but the simple fact of unknowing the origin of the word blacken made her racist, even in a veiled way. It seemed that either she adapted herself to the politically correct, that she used to compare to 1984's George Orwell Thoughtcrime, or she would be obligated to be stoned with speeches of perfect world, flowered, full of fluffy and jumping rabbits with a rainbow in the background that only wasn't real because people full of prejudices like her existed on the Earth.
She decided to remain quiet. She would love to send that people to hell, but she preferred to behave morally and hold her swear words to her, therefore, who uses verbal violence loses the reason and blablabla. She felt no more free to swear!
The worse was that she was seeing lots of people taking part into this committed to a cause group. She didn't know if it was a kind of moral coercion or even a trend. Since some time she started observing that there's a way that dictates that all the human kind must be committed with a cause. How isn't committed or criticizes that this commitment is nothing but vanity, to seem more “intelligent” or “cult” or “awesome revolutionary” was considered less deserving of respect according to her observations. And the repulsion shown by the moralist speeches, by the look of disappointment or censor, by the hand in the mouth in an expression of incredulity or horror, by a supposed feeling of “pity”. She was out of this trend and it bothered her. It didn't mean she wanted to take part, but she noticed that people were turning out to be less spontaneous and even more unbearable and boring.
“But what if I the boring one is me? But what it if the problem is me?” she wondered all the time.
Maybe she was. When she tried to join this trend, she felt extremely artificial. Artificial laughs, artificial interests. She didn't feel free anymore to be herself, that one that used swear words sometimes, not too into the etymological meaning of the words, that used politically incorrect words and to not be committed in a cause or slave of her own vanity, desperate to show herself off, sound intelligent and socially responsible, in impressing by wishing a Nobel Prize. She wanted to be “prejudiced”, “ignorant”, “irresponsible” according to the committed guys, but she felt alone being herself. The new order was seeming to be the artificially in its more advanced stage. She used to consider herself as authentic, but it was ugly and something she should be ashamed for.
Anyway, she used to think too much as well and it was another thing that deeply bothered her. Then the best she could do was accepting, trying to ignore, once again compressed in the window by anyone with a large body mass index. Maybe she could fall asleep again upon an area of a great reserve of glycogen and dream of a world in witch people wasn't too neurotic related to language or in going out by flying as Marxist Captain Planet, crazy to save the world of the degradation caused by the capitalist bourgeoisie oppressor and make the heart signal with the hands.
