You wake up in your bed, staring at the ceiling. Groggy, you roll over, gazing bleary eyed at the alarm clock, which is blaring louder than a banshee. As you nearly destroy the alarm clock in the attempt to catch a few more precious moments of sleep, you remember that you must head in to work today, otherwise you won’t be able to make a living. After you’ve showered and received your first dose of coffee, you trundle outside to your car, where you try to make it in on time to work; unfortunately, you run smack into morning rush hour traffic.
As you approach the office, you desperately hope that you arrive at your desk before your supervisor begins to notice your tardiness. By taking an alternate route, courtesy of your fellow co-workers who discovered it during their many smoking breaks, you manage to slide in without getting caught…this time.
The rest of the day is filled with answering phone calls, attending meetings, writing memos, and otherwise many other small insignificant tasks that you begrudingly perform in the vain hope of extracting wealth from various people whom are genuinely more productive than you ever will be during the course of your entire life.
As the day winds down to an end, you attempt to leave without having to run into your boss, whom you know wants you to work overtime this week. Unfortunately, he manages to guilt you into covering for one your female co-workers, who needs time off to attend a birthing class with her lesbian partner. Grumbling silently to yourself after your boss heads home for the day, you now have at least 4 extra hours of mind-numbing paperwork to finish before you can even contemplate going home yourself.
It turns out, as you finally leave for the day, that there is a premature exodus from the city because of a big football game, which is occurring this very weekend. So, now you face a 2 hour traffic jam in addition to your overtime, all of which is piled on top of your normal 8 hour workday.
Arriving home after this cycle of the daily grind, you collapse onto the couch, dazed into oblivion by staring at the wall. Composing yourself, you remember that you delayed paying the bills over last weekend, and they need to be paid before midnight tonight. Cursing your rotten luck, you down yet another pot of coffee while you attempt to pay bills, grinding your teeth the entire time. Upon reflection of the balance on your checking account, it turns out your employer is a few days late with your direct deposit. Since you’ve been unable to accumulate savings of any kind, your balance is too low to pay the bills that need to be paid within the hour (despite the fact you have the ability to pay online).
Completely at your wits end, you give up the entire endeavor by whipping out your last six-pack from the bottom of the pantry, as well as your favorite antidepressants, and slump into a drunken, artificially elated sense of unreality. You flick on the television to watch your favorite evening shows to further enhance your feeling of escapism before eventually passing out on the couch due to sheer exhaustion.
The next day, the same thing happens all over again, in almost exactly the same way, as if it were from a script.
Your life is essentially an inescapeable bubble, insulating you from the rest of reality. You never invest the time and effort to discover why you feel so trapped in what is supposed to be your own life. You have an inkling that this so-called American Dream is really nothing more than a farce, since you have to be asleep to believe it.