You’re not a teenager anymore, I don’t know if you realize it or not. It’s time you started thinking about your future with a little bit of seriousness. You can’t just keep living the college-hostel life, drowning out your problems with Radiohead albums. You need to plan. You need to take decisions.
I don’t believe this. Have you forgotten all the promises you made, all that you decided to stand for. Do you not remember your dreams? Or was it all a farce, a pretentious little charade. You could have had the shiny shoes, the pinstripe suit, the investment portfolio and the silver sedan, if you wanted to. You chose this. Try to remember why.
Nobody is asking you to give up on your dreams. What were your dreams, exactly? What do you really want? To eat biscuits for dinner in your one-room apartment, lying alone on a tattered mattress, spending the night wishing you were someone else? Wake up, Vincent. Stop kidding yourself. You want your fucking flat screen TV and your German car. You want your Android and your 5000-buck Nikes. Dreams don’t pay the EMIs, do they? You’ve seen what happens when the ATM throws the card out on your face, mocking your temerity, like a hotel doorman shooing a homeless beggar away. You don’t want to go there again. For once in your life, act like an adult. You don’t even have medical insurance, for god’s sake. You’re still young, you can do what you want. But you need to make sure you’re financially stable.
Listen to yourself. Financially stable. You’re a disgrace, a disgrace. Do you remember a note you once posted over your desk? “Fuck stocks. Read a book, watch a movie, take a vacation. Invest in yourself.” What was that? You trying to look cool? Or did it mean something? Well, you know what, forget it, you’re right. You should be practical. You can have all the fun later, when you have a bar full of single malts in a 3-BHK in Greater fucking Noida. When you’re a fat, miserable 45-year-old with a wife you never fuck and kids who won’t look at you when you come home. Then, you can do what you fucking want, when you start shoving your hand in the air, begging for people to help you out of a chair. Not now. Now is the time to buy insurance.
Fucking hell. Calm down, guys. You know this is not going anywhere. Listen, Californication Season 5 is out. I’ll get us some Coke and Uncle Chipps. We’ll have a smoke later and talk about this when we’re all in a better mood. Alright? Good.