I am unresponsive, barely able to identify the people who surround me. I am somehow on my feet, moving among them. I'm trying to acknowledge them, but the most I can manage are pained groans, grunts, sniffles etc. Sounds and smells are familiar, but I am associating them vaguely with discomfort and bitterness. The recognizable taste of sour bile, and coppery blood rises in my throat. Instead of alarm, it instead raises in me only the same malaise affiliated with all these aforementioned symptoms.
That's right ya'll, it's 7 am and I'm at work!
Yea, yea, I know, nobody really likes their jobs. that's why we've designated them "jobs" rather than "careers". Everybody stumbles blearily through their 20s and early 30s, lost in a string of meaningless 9-5 gigs, paycheck to paycheck, happy hour to happy hour. I accept there there are exceptions to the rule. Young upstarts who got into the ivy league of their choice, talented, driven individuals who succumbed to none of the chagrin I myself have nested in so deeply.
Seriously, fuck them. Fuck them and all their dumbass achievable goals.
To this day, I have not seen one former classmate on MTV. I have read no books penned by my so-called peers. There is not one supermodel or reality tv star among my graduating class.
However, all the marine biology majors, aspiring teachers and beauticians are now basking in the glow of their well won careers. Well, good for them. I'm sure they don't wake up each morning re-realizing the grim certainty of $10 an hour, that becomes maybe $8.50 after taxes, translating into rent, booze, and bills and nothing more. No investment, no equity, no new car, no vacations, no future.
It's groundhog day except not funny.
All of your dreams are bullshit. Everything you wanted as a child is never going to happen. Unless your ultimate dream was absolute mediocrity, or you got into the aforementioned ivy league school, you are completely fucked. Wanted kids before 30, but not before you got that dream career? You lost. Wanted to be a young fabulous mother, possibly write the great American novel from your cushy home office? You lost, you fucking loser.
I am finally accepting these facts. I will not be a young fabulous mother. I will not win an MTV music award. I will not pen the great American anything. The best i can do is wake up every morning, stumble through this god forsaken routine, and accept that tomorrow will be exactly the same.
Until my book deal.
right on right on
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