Ambition is for Losers

Ambition tricked me. It visited me in my cradle, told me private lies of what the future holds. It showed me images with each closing of my eyelids, in a time between one blink to the next, I was fooled into believing I could rise above my station. With each spoon of Cérélac I was assured 'life is good'; ambition told me I was destined for greatness. Many decades on and my hunger is no longer sated, what's left besides my penchant gluttony for punishment is something with a distinct semblance to self defeat. Ambition keeps me up at night and even between snatches of sleep, it invades, never missing an opportunity to taunt me. Lately it's made friends with Desire

Desire, like the rest of its bloodline - Dreams, Destiny, Despair, Deconstruction and Defeat- seeks the fulfilment of things that I cannot provide. Desire fills my restless thoughts amidst my wishes to live a mediocre life, take the easy road, Desire interrupts with hurtful requests for more: a job with a basic salary twice my age, an apartment in the only part of town I would want to live in on purpose, bought and paid for in full by me. Desire will chase me with sticks and stones that could break me; Ambition will tag me looser and wake me. Together they make a great team; they have treacherously laid their nest in me and have me striving through my day without peace, I just wish they'd picked a different body.

I'm not sure which I fear more, the cock crows at dawn, or the crickets chirping at night. Night times are spent reflecting on the ill accomplishments of the day before, eyes heavy with defeat, mind numb from the pit falls of the previous day, body frail from another day of attempting to survive the rat race and stick a finger to the man. My conscious mind being ever in need of much needed rest is too afraid of the will of my semiconscious. The crickets chirp their night time lullaby for me to close my eyes to the world and embrace the peace only the blanket of night can provide. But I know better, the blanket only brings with it surety of one of two things: death to the world and all its toils or a new morning to re-enact another day at your station. And as sure as the crickets chirp at night, so mocks me the birds in the morning. So joins the cock crows at dawn, so returns the yell at my piss stained door 'you still owe me two months rent Nsuka'. It's barely 7am and already I am late for my brand new fruitless day. Tomorrow is another day.
Free WriteOreka Godis