It's catching up with me.
I've been too busy to remember how sad I am. Hm.
And it's obvious. Here it is, 3 o'clock in the afternoon and where am I? Still in bed. Even with work nudging itself closer and closer with it's paper mache head.
I've neglected classes, homework, finishing my room and personal hygiene even, to either A.) sleep or B.) revel in wonderful conversations.
Somehow the latter means more to me than a paycheck. Apparently that's a sign of some disfigure in my American genetic makeup. Watch out! Someone doesn't want to earn a living! How do I have to earn my life?! It wasn't my idea to be born. A million percent of the time I wish I wasn't.
You know what I hate? That the world wouldn't stop turning if I wasn't here.
I hate that.
I don't even like my job anymore. In fact, I despise it. Maybe it's because I find it horribly unnatural to work 8 hour days. My time is precious, my moments numbered and whose to say I want to spend them working? Not even for myself! I'm a slave to other people! Me having a job benefits me no more than a gay man in a fish shop. I'd rather have time than money. Is that wrong?
My big thing lately has been learning to let go of things. I let go of my old room. I let go of old memories of friends. I let go from holding on. Except for the one thing that I need to learn to let go of the most. Funny, how that is.
I've been living with a puncture wound in my sanity and under a severe impression that life could be like the movies. And it's stupid, I know, because I know movies are just glorified representations of our ids and how it could be if...
It's wrong to want, I know. Movies are all around me. Scripts and lines and actors and plot twists...it's hard to feel like I'm not a face in the background although I'm very much present on centerstage.
Aren't movies like drugs? You watch them to get away from "real life" ? The way a drug addict uses crystal meth? Escapism. It's unescapable.
What am I escaping from? Mostly, myself. I have finally found my knack, ladies and gentlemen. I'm great at fucking everything up. If you want your world torn apart or spaghetti stains on your carpet, I'm your girl. Watch my fabulous facade turn into dust and fall to the ground in little silvery shards. Ha, who woulda thunk it?
Not being afraid of being alone can only be true as long as I hold on to what never was.
Let the credits roll.
2 comments:
You hate the work because your passion isn't in it. Like my first "real" job. (I don't count the high school carhopping at the root beer stand for 90 cents an hour plus tips a real job.) I worked because I had to. Not because I wanted to. I got no reward aside from the paycheck and benefits. But at your age I didn't know what my life was about. I had no concept of my future. Sad? You betcha.
But my answer came years later. I found a passion, a job that pays me more than what I cash at the bank. You will find it. Sometimes you just have to wait. And I know that at 19, waiting seems like an eternity. But you will look back, and...
Oh Jesus, I sound like my mother.
~~ jennifer, shutting up now
your so damn cute
I neglect everything until the last minute, and I've done pretty well so far...kind of
and talk about fucking everything up, I can't even get minute rice right.
No really I just tried
What I am good at is bitching...
and sleeping
Its totally fine to hate your job, I always hate one of mine at one point.
but, when I didn't have one, I hated myself for doing nothing with the time
its a fucking circle
I'm a square
Kathleen
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