Entry #61 – I’m a slave

I can’t help but feel that way sometimes. Anytime when I feel I’m not in control I just subconciously see those rusty shackles clasped around my wrists and ankles. I feel that way in the morning when I have to put on my suit and tie to go to work in order to earn a salary. I feel that way when I’m in the supermarket when I have to spend money on bread, water, milk and other groceries. I feel that way on the road when I have to obey the traffic lights at night even when there is clearly no oncoming vehicle as far as my eyes can see. I feel that way when I have to study for months just to get a certificate for a professional qualification. I feel that when one of my customers/clients hails fire and brimstone over the phone and I have to keep my cool and manage the situation without being rude. Being a slave is not at all pleasant. Everybody likes freedom. Freedom to be yourself and do what you want to do.

…The only time I don’t particularly mind being a slave is when I’m in the bedroom with my girlfriend – if you’re reading this, dear, I love you 😀

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