You could've joined the army... nah, not the army... you know, the ones who wear bad clothes and pee in bottles - I mean the VANILLA ARMY.
The one that sets the alarm for 6am and races around trying to organise the household before rushing off to their commute squashed in against all the other lemmings on public transport.
Suck it up.
Wearing that mask of respectability.
Don't think too hard.
DEFINITELY don't voice your opinions.
Don't show your weird.
Go to the same sandwich bar every day for lunch.
Buy the same damned thing every damned day with a nice slice of vanilla boredom.
Play the game.
Live for your 2 weeks on a Spanish beach along with all the other vanilla "all-inclusive" robots who don't even know they're missing out on life.
Feeling dead inside.
Dying, hour by hour, day by day, week by week.
Knowing there HAS to be more to live than this.
Yeh. More for YOU!
Fuck the rest of them. They can make their own decisions... maybe. Maybe they will, maybe they won't... chances are they won't - so it's time to step up and be a SELFISH BITCH and grab on to the life you want.
The life you CHOOSE to live.
Get off the damned wheel.
Rip off the veneer of respectability.
Because it really IS the only way to feel ALIVE inside... not dead/waiting to die - like your life never meant anything.
This is not a fucking game of Monopoly. Do not pass GO. Do not collect £200.
One life. One chance. JUST FUCKING DO IT!
Before it's too late.
And your whole fucking life is as vanilla as your fucking takeaway latte you drink on that train 5 days a week wishing you were somewhere else.
The only rule is - THERE ARE NO FUCKING RULES!
Stop being a baby about it - YOU are the only one who gets to take control.
To carve out each and EVERY day and make it your own.
By your OWN timetable.
Not the 8:12am to Euston.
Not shaping your life around your boss's golf round.
Nor the girl in the sandwich shop with the smudged mascara because she's been up all night crying over some man you KNOW wasn't worth it...