It's a Midlife Crisis
Let me tell you one thing; adult life in suburbia is overrated. Mow your lawn, do the dishes, shop groceries, make dinner, go to work, go home, go to bed, rinse and repeat. Meet the neighbour, listen to what he has to say, smile, smile, nod, smile. Attend celebrations and birthdays, listen to people telling you how great their life is, look in their eyes, see them dying a little more inside each and every year. People you knew as a kid, once bright with life and promise, now faded ghosts, manpuppets telling you of the joys of being able to change diapers and having left the partying life behind. Lies we tell ourselves, to convince ourselves we are happy, to convince ourselves that this is what we wanna do.
In the end, you have heard the same stories twice over.
In the end, you get tired of blending in.
You get tired of confirming to the music police, the culture police, the opinion police, the society police, the @!#$ING fashion police.
Each and everyone force feeding you a pre-processed menu of socially accepted tastes and opinions.
For what? Who decides what I want? Who decides how I best live my life?
For years these thoughts gnawed at my subconscious. Who were the @!#$ing architects of this prison of misery? Salaries barely covering the bills, and if you earn more you are supposed to spend more, to reflect your social status. @!#$! I'd like to meet them, these architects of society. I'd like to kick 'em in the balls.
They are probably on a yacht in the Caribbean, laughing, joking about the genius of it all while drinking Chablis from the nipples of some supermodel.
For me, working in the financial sector was the final drop. There is something called ERP, Enterprise Resource Planning, and let me tell you; you don't wanna know what it is. All you need to know is that it is death in slow motion. A @!#$ing crapfest of mediocrity, with high salary and low quality of life.
So I quit.
I started working with surveillance. Life should be an adventure, I thought. I picked up my old interest for hacking. Why not? I felt like I was a @!#$ing James Bond.
Tales of adventure. South African transports equipped with our GPS transmitters. Highwaymen robbing the transports, putting slugs through the heads of the driver. Military Jeeps full of crack soldiers with red berets, chasing the robbers down; butchering them in the wilderness.
African tales; mercenaries on the ceiling of the jeeps, dark skinned beauties dancing seductively, corpses in hotel rooms.
Middle eastern tales; militant groups being stopped, technology defeating smugglers and terrorists alike.
All these tales.
Soon thereafter I discovered the company had been thoroughly hacked. I explained my interest in computer security. They joked about getting me out of bed at night. Of pouring gasoline over me, igniting the gasoline. They were more afraid of me, than of the hackers I had uncovered. I told them they were being idiots.
I had begun working with the freemasons. I was told as much, and the names of prominent leaders had been publicised by Norwegian media, so I found them when I looked them up on Google:
CEO Asse Hole, Grand Knight of the Order of the Illuminated Intestine, Protector of the Order of the Burning Rash
Sales Director Puke Vomit, Reverent Anus of The Lodge of St. Dickhead.
And so on.
How I @!#$ing hated the freemasons. Uptight little *******s, a brotherhood of pricks, shaking hands. They hated me right back. So, when they found me in the sofa on the first company christmas party, a girl in each arm, my wife started to sing. She performed an opera, singing and singing until both of my girls were so ashamed that they fled the scene. I was so proud. My lioness. We left hand in hand, and the freemasons stood there gaping.
A year of hell followed. It was too soon to quit the job, and the @!#$tards kept smirking. Constant jokes of how they were gonna burn me in the forest. A year of being told what a @!#$up I was. How I did not deserve my wife. How I was a gold digger, being with a woman much richer than myself.
In retrospect I realize that some of them were jealous.
After a year had gone by we merged with another company. The other company was controlled by hungry wolves, and soon enough the freemasons were squeezed out, one after another. To my utter joy and delight. I shook their hands as they left, their necks bowed down, their anger evident. My eyes must have shone with pure joy.
s**t Hits the Fan
So, one night I was partying with Scrooge in the capital. Scrooge, ever the womanizer, hit on everything that moved. This beauty walks up to me, sits down on my lap and starts kissing. Scrooge gets all riled up.
"@!#$ THAT, AG! YOU ARE MARRIED! @!#$ YOU, YOU ARE MARRIED!"
The redhead looked at Scrooge. Kissed him passionately.
Scrooge got that horny look, and for a few minutes he just sat there, like an erect penis, but she ignored him and continued making out with me.
Scrooge began to scream. "@!#$ YOU, AG! @!#$ YOU! @!#$ YOU! I WILL TELL YOUR WIFE! I WILL @!#$ING TELL YOUR WIFE!"
She led me out the door. Scrooge followed us.
She led me to a taxi. Scrooge yelled. I had quit registering what he said.
I barely remember the trip to her place. All I remember is lips and boobs and a million threats by text from Scrooge.
I left my wife. She cried. I was so confused. I bought an airplane ticket. Destination: Ibiza.
I traveled to Ibiza. 38 years old. Spent days there. I was constantly drunk. I looked good. When you look good, girls come over all the time. I drowned in girls. I left for Barcelona. I lied all the @!#$ing time, about my age, my nationality, my name, my job. Sometimes I was 21, from Poland, looking for a job. Sometimes I was 27, from Sweden. Sometimes I was from the US. Sometimes from Russia. I was a player. A species I myself had never liked much.
It was insane. It was life. I lived like I never lived before.
Now, I am probably supposed to tell you it was wrong, but the truth is I have never had as much fun in my entire life.
I came back home. I had compressed my crisis into one summer. I was content.
@!#$ing it all up... Again
At work there was this Swedish girl. She was my best friend. She was actually 40, two years older than me. I don't know what happened, but she came over to me during our christmas party. We looked each other in the eyes. I fell in love. For a long time we met in secret, in the parking basement, in the closet, in the fire-stairs. We hugged and kissed, we were burning with passion, but we did not go all the way.
So we arranged to go to Oslo, the capital. When we left, we were both in love. Of course, we ran into one of the lead freemasons I had previously worked with, just before leaving. He took a look at her, stashed up, stars in her eyes. He took at look at me, equally stashed up, beaming with happiness.
Then we left for the capital. It was passionate at first but my wife started appearing in my subconscious. So I turned the Swedish girl down. Not once, but four times.
She was insulted. She was silent for days. Meanwhile her husband got an anonymous phonecall. Someone had decided to tell him about what we were doing.
In the end it did not work out. I was heartbroken. I was confused. I met a couple of other girls. I got thrown out of nightclubs because me and my girls were being too graphic. I went to Amsterdam where I had a crush on a 19 year old bartender. Another beautiful redhead. She had a crush on me too. She ditched me after I kissed five girls one evening in Old Sailor's pub, and Kirby, a dude from LA (that secretly loved her) told her all about it.
When I came home, the Swedish girl had started talking about me. I got stares, I noticed their looks. So I asked her.
"No", she said. "I have not been talking about you. We were best friends before. Why do you think I would talk about you?"
Still I got the weird looks.
Ever the hacker, and with a broken heart, I planted a false rumor. Told it to her brother after drinking, exaggerating how drunk I was; "We would never fit together anyhow. All I do is get high and hack people. All she ever does is make cupcakes", I said.
Oh my, she got busy.
When I planted the rumor, I just wanted to see if she was the person my gut told me she was. If she was telling people the false rumor I planted. And so she did. The rumor spread like wildfire, I could see it in their eyes, the way people started dodging me, or just stared accusingly.
Unfortunately, the management believed the rumor to be true as well. I knew the Freemasons had previously influenced them with their sceptism. It was only logical. Now, here was a former lover, telling them that I had drunkenly admitted as much.
Finally my ingenuity had backfired.
So, when I deleted an embarrassing heartbroken email I sent her, she contacted the CEO of our company. She told him I had hacked her. Being the company top saleswoman, she certainly had his attention.
At the same time I had stepped down from my role as the head of security of the company. The pay was not good enough, and they expected me to deliver on development as well, as I was the single individual who knew several of the core systems. It was twice the work for a minimal raise.
As a result of my resignation as head of security the management was going ballistic.
They were fuming.
No one had ever done anything like that, ever before.
My relationship with the company soured to the level where they had people watching me, scripts logging everything I did. They restricted my access. I had to ask IT before accessing a server, which, as a server programmer, I did a lot of times each day.
It was ridiculous.
Not only because the security measures were inane, and could easily be bypassed since they lacked any skills at all. But also because it was based on a fallacy.
My God, how I missed my wife.
How I missed the neighbour, and his inane conversation.
How I missed the kids. Parent conversations. Bills. I @!#$ing missed bills.
How I missed shopping groceries. How I missed making dinner.
But I had gone and screwed it all up. I had put my money on beautiful, young women and exciting parties.
I had surfed on my youthful good looks.
Then, one day, my ex-wife stopped by to talk with me. She was depressed. I felt an intense aching in my heart. I had @!#$ing loved this woman all along. I put all my cards on the table. I told her more that I told in this tale. And she hugged me. She wanted me back.
It was @!#$ing unbelievable.
And now I love bills. I love cleaning the house. I love the kids complaining. I love waking up with my daughter in one arm, my son in another. I love my wife. I love my life.
And the freemasons? I never see them anymore. They live far, far away.
And the company? I gave them the finger. I left them. They have never found anyone to replace me. The ones that can cost too much and want to work and live in the capital.
And the Swedish Gossip? A couple of months after leaving I told my friends there what had really transpired, and the tables turned on her. Oh, and her insanely jealous husband keeps stalking me online, so I guess she is living in hell.
And thus transpired the insanity that was my midlife crisis.