I sold my summer.

Since my latest trip to UK, where I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of money and brought not much hapiness back (please refer to the previous post), I’ve been working. I’m a cashier at a diy store. It’s a gigantic business and I’m just a little piece in the big machine, but since my mum is my direct boss, I thought it’d be okay.

And it really has been okay. I can’t say I died. But it’s actually pretty close. I’ve been working so hard I’ve become apatic towards pretty much anything.

Honestly, the thing that used to be the highlight of my life was always formula 1, but now even grands prix don’t give me the enthusiasm and satisfaction it used to give me. It feels like I’m not even living anymore. I’m just kind of existing. That’s a very surreal feeling, actually. Everythin feels unreal. Like it’s not my life I’m living or that it’s all just a dream. To be completely honest, the other day I almost had sex with a guy I didn’t know like at all! Come on, that’s not me. All in all, it feels like I haven’t been me for a while.

And for all of that I blame nothing but my job. I spend my days there with little rest. It’s killing me emotionally to be in this situation. But the truth is, this is what life of an average adult looks like – time that was sold and surrealism.

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