capitalism.

On August 1st, my website had its yearly renewal, costing me $94 (really a fair price if you break it down by months), and reminded me I've let my blog fall to disrepair. It's taken three months for me to feel the gap in creativity and felt it I have. I've been busy faking adulthood, working, which I'm grateful for because I remember the times I had to skip meals, but it's the kind of busy where the quality of your life improves and you're too busy with work to enjoy it. Hobbies like mindless video games have become an ice pack to a tired brain & body instead of the joyous, timeless relaxation it was. I remember the times I'd Wikipedia juice just to see what's up. I was also clinically depressed, and everyone has their blog essay on the essence of time and its slipping by, but this one is different because it's about me and how I feel.

The thing is work isn't real. Maybe I say that just because I don't always find fulfillment with my work; I'm satisfied at times, excited even completing projects, but ultimately my girlfriend, friends, family, the people in my life actually matter; the precisely 29 hours I work per week can be a drain and prevent me from being with the people I love. A job is a job. It's a thing. It doesn't love me. It's capitalism. The second I become incompetent, I'm gone because it's a lifeless, joyless institution.

Ironic, because humans make the institutions, economic systems, which are distinctly not human, but give governance to our lives. Traffic is a good institution and the laws America's built around that institution are helpful, but it also is an impersonal system so it doesn't have to justify its 35,092 yearly deaths and we don't have to think about it because we've passed on the responsibility to a machine to which indifference is its mechanism. That's why when we have money, yay, I'm glad I have a seat at the table and don't starve; and when we don't have money, we loathe a system that propagates itself by turning the impoverished into robots who don't make "living" wages. Because slavery was expensive in cities where feeding, clothing, sheltering people had increasing expenditures, so they gave us back the responsibility of keeping ourselves alive and had the gall to call it our freedom, not because it profited us, but because it profited an inhuman process built to increase wealth for its masters. It's all master-slave still. Your "evil" boss is just an expression of an indifferent system of hierarchy and power.

The only thing that keeps us from seeing through that mirage which keeps us from the truth, that we are all equal, the rich are not paragons but facile manipulators and you are not your output, is humanity. The humanity we give ourselves and our coworkers. Our overseers are our peers. Even people doing inhuman things are people. Yes, a system created by people who only sought profit without regulation is caked with the blood of the young and poor, but we fight it everyday we treat a subordinate or superior as a human being with desires, families, tragedies and joys surrounding their lives outside of being a cog in some damnable machine.

No matter what, we are all just people.