He felt himself whimper and shudder with pleasure as the warm mounds of solid chocolate turned into semi-liquid, near the base of his tongue, squishing around his mouth as if he sought an overdose; no doubt expressed by the sight of himself on his smartphone self, with froths of milk chocolate all over his mouth. Sometimes, he wondered if he was a parasite.
Contrary to claims of being an avowed minimalist, thoughts of such nature seemed to leave his house the moment voices bordering hate, lust and sugar made their presence felt, as if awaiting the point when he would start to make a move towards a more rational, disciplined and organized life. Since time wasn’t a problem for him, or or it seemed, he had become all the more indulgent in pursuing the sensations of pleasure rather than develop and build an approach for creating something out of his own ingenuity, a genuine source of happiness as per him Sometimes, he wondered if he needed to speak to a therapist.
For all the talk of thinking and doing good, he felt aggrieved when thinking and doing good’s proponents failed to specify any kind of practical way of actually thinking and doing good. Of course, everyone wanted to think and do good things, and live out a comfortable life filled with happiness. He felt no joy in listening to such sentences anymore, partly because he knew it was already true, and the fact was that its real meaning was to think good and be good at the right time, not all the time. Sometimes, he thought all manners of motivational quotes ought to be attached with a disclaimer mentioning how the quotes ought to be followed selectively, with the risk of actually manifesting happiness lying upon the motivated self.
Only monks had access to an environment that dictated thinking good and being good all the time. On the other hand, his environment consisted of being skeptical, equivocal and having passionate arguments about multiple issues delivered in either calm, sarcastic or casually sober tones, with occasions ranging from workplace what-aboutery to intoxicated conversations where one choice of substances usually swung between cannabis and beer. Sometimes, he thought as if he were living multiple lives at the same time, like a raging maniac intent on causing as much havoc and change as possible, both personally and professionally.
Time was of crucial importance and he felt as if he were whiling away the best years of his life, intently watching all his peers make meaningful investments towards their health, education and financial well-being, the three true hallmarks for thriving in the unfettered era of capitalism. Not that, his own country practiced a full-fledged version of capitalism (for that would entail lessening the hand of the government in matters of production and monetization as much as possible), but rather a mixed version, consisting of part-capitalism and part-socialism. Sometimes, he wondered about his own fate, maybe five years down the line, and was stunned to admit that he did not know. He was reassured by the fact that millions of others didn’t know as well, however that was not an excuse to sit idly by and not invest time to understand how the world worked.
By the time his eyes had begun to droop, it was just near sunrise.
Marijuana Maharaj 