When i was 17 i left college. I quit. At that point in my life i still hadnt addressed my parents break up 3 years earlier and my mothers deteriating health. I wasnt interested in my topics that i had chosen. I was beginning to slip into a state of anomie. So i got a job. It wasnt my first by a long shot. It was at a warehouse and my role was a continuous stock taker. I was a counter and id count every single day from 7 in the morning till 4 in the afternoon. The warehouse was gargantuan. The people who worked there where all strangers. No one spoke. There where no friends here. No one wanted to be here and it was written all over our faces. Rather we where forced to be here. Due to causes each individually different....but it wasnt our choice. Fork lift trucks would beep, screech and hum. Articulated lorries would sputter, wine and grumble. The machines would play perfectly like some mechanical percussion orchestra. If conversation ever arose it would be about football, sex or grog. We where the bottom of the barrel. Working class workhorses. Working out of sight, behind the seens of the general public. I arrived in the dark of winter and i left in the night aswell. Mornings were cold and nights the same.
I hated that place. Every morning id wake up and my feet would feel like stone. It took the strength of a 100 wild horses to get out of that bed every morning and it felt it too. The house would be cold. My clothes would be cold. The drive to work as cold. The walk to the warehouse across the carpark was cold. My bed was warm....and soft....and...and...not here.
Before you could begin work you had to get prosessed. Security would perform random spot checks. Sometimes patting you down. Check your id and such. There was big single lines and you'd shuffle slowly, like penguins, to the point where youd pass security and youd finally be able to swipe that little plastic white card.
There was this one morning when i looked up as i was stood in the single line...shuffling. I watched the machines turning. The forklifts wooshing past. The nameless strangers plodding aimlessly. At that moment i felt hate and resentment. I hated that i was there. I hated that i was cold. I hated that i hadnt seen daylight in months. I hated that i cryed that morning because i didnt want to go to work and i hated that i felt guilty and weak for it. I hated the constant noise. I hated the floresent lights that made your eyes sore. I hated the dust mites that would leave your ankles and wrists bleeding as youd scratch away all day. I hated that no one give a fuck. I....in short....hated. The only thing that would get me through them days was, quite simply, quite beautifully. A girl.
Knowing that a girl waited for me and would be there as soon as id finished made it tolerable. I think alot of people live for others. There must be thousands of people still working jobs like i worked everyday. Everyday the world must seem that little bit more grey. But they do it. Because at the end of it they get to come back to thier love and thier children. Thats the reason they leave in the morning.
Ive never been able to narrow down love. Ive never been able to describe it in all its layers. Its like water. The moment you think youve got a grasp of what it is, it effortlessly slips through your fingers and eludes you. My conclusion is that everyones love is different. As distinguishable to each others preconceptions as their dna that they carry.