Brrr, I’m shivering in my soul. After almost a decade of being jobless and seven years on the street, I am finally going to have to start doing a proper job as a logistics manager again. Frankly, I am not looking forward to it. The freedom of the street is so alluring, to be able to go where you want any time and do more or less as you please is addictive, BUT I’m really getting too old for it, for it is a hard, hard life.
Many of my friends have died because of the harshness of this travelers’ life. I decided that I wanted to live a while longer and therefore I have to bear the consequences and put the yoke of servitude to the rat-race back on my weary, old shoulders. I had sworn to myself: “Never again!”, but had I remained, I would surely have perished, like my young, best friend Rauli, who died at the age of 38 a year ago now.
It feels as if there is a vice strapped around my temple and some horrible tyrant is twisting it ever tighter, but there is only me, the decision is mine. I shall just have to look upon it as another adventure in a corporate jungle instead of in the urban or outdoor jungle. I hope I meet my Jane while playing Tarzan with bills of lading, etcetera…
It’s off to Morocco next week or maybe even this week, to start in the marble import business. Oh, what a joy! Probably hardly any time for writing or reading or painting, just numbers, and calls from irate customers. I dearly hope that this occupation does not extinguish the flame of my muse. *sigh*