Last year, I started a very stubborn cause. I began reading books that society had dictated as “classics” in an attempt to see what the point was. What was I missing out on? Was there really anything to be gained by reading these books? Oh dear gods, it seems there is.
I read the book 1984 last spring or summer and it took me several months to finish because of it’s depressingly accurate portrayal of modern society. It didn’t help that current events at the time were mirroring the events in the book, so I found it difficult to purposefully expose myself to more of the same in the context of the written form. This is partly because I like to use books as a means to escape reality, not as a means to have it echo through my mind. Although the book was a tough read, it was thought provoking and I was determined to finish it no matter what. It seems that decision was not without purpose.
We come to another part of the cycle where I was unemployed for over a month. I occupied my time with crafting, creating and sending out resumes, and acting as a shuttle for my family. I finally found a job in a town not too far away (about 30 minutes one way) and the pay will help me get caught up on bills. I was excited to begin working for this company because they have strict guidelines for employee behavior and I thought I was signing up for a more professional atmosphere. I slowly began to realize that the company I work for is Communist. I am not saying this in the American fear of Communism way. I am saying this in the definition of the term. Everything belongs to the company, you do what the company wants, when it wants it, and how it wants it done. There is no room for individuality, this is considered “weird” and people are expected to conform to the behavioral standards given without any thought to deviation due to being human. It is a great environment for those who prefer to brown nose instead of actually work. I find it appalling and it has motivated me to return to school in hopes of finding work, albeit similar in environment, less damaging to the body.
This situation reminds me of “1984” and the circumstances that the characters went through. I found myself buying into the system at first, eager to make a good impression. I now find myself revolting from it and wanting to get out. I pray I do not end up loving it. I think that in this manner, art has imitated life, has imitated art, has imitated life. I think I’ll go back to crocheting at this point.