I'm having the damndest time trying to figure out what to do with myself today.
I called in sick-
don't ask-
and ... I dunno, I guess I need to take this time and really sort out my feelings about my life.
I've got another 11 months at this assignment.
I'm already doing that bored... angry thing I do at a job.
I don't know if I want to write fiction anymore.
That was the hardest sentence of my life... but its pretty valid. In a world of post modern fools, trillion dollar fallouts, and injustice for all- I really don't know if I have it in me. I think I've always wanted to be a writer... I just didn't want to write.
Maybe its just that cruel reality setting in- that there's a lot of work to it, a lot of luck to it. I have a shitty work ethic, and even worse luck.
No, that's not it... I just have a lot to say, but no vague metaphoric way to say it. I need to set out with purpose.
How do I feel about food?
I love it. I want to cook more of it. I'm still thinking MCA>MA. Will I do anything with that in my career... *shrug* but I'd be one very overqualified cookbook writer.
How do I feel about this job?
I hate it.
Once again I'm making half the money with a fourth the motivation for double the qualifications.
At some point I really would like my own environment.
My own couch, my own TV, a linen tent, odd shelving units for a study, a leather armchair, a soda machine, galaga arcade, an MP3 player with stereo disguised as a jukebox, overhead lighting that matches... and actually illuminates, a baracade around my entertainment system that isn't cardboard?
y'know... my own space.
It makes me resent my home, my city, my grocery store, my spare time, and all the dipshits in the world making more money than me with half the iq.
I want a fire pit, a dog house, a friend for my dog,
I want more.
I know this isn't very buddhist of me, but I do have big ideas for my personal surroundings.
Ooh- OOH! And how about a friggen oven that isn't older than my dad?
Windows that aren't thin as paper. Color... what I'd fuckin give for color in this house.
Wait- why does it even matter? I'm not staying here.
deep sigh
eye rub
It all comes down to the next move.
I'll be on the edge of 25 when I leave this place.
Who will take me in?
Where do I really want to be?
Walking distance to my favorite coffee shop.
Grabbing distance from my love.
Somewhere I can get away with having an electric car on the weekdays.
Some place where it all has the slight chance of making sense.
We might have to leave kansas for this one...
Is it my fault for feeling unfulfilled here?
Or is this all just a side effect of being 24?
I wish I could tell you what is going on with my brother
what's going on with my goddaughter
what's going on with my lovelife.
Deciding the next move would be a lot easier then.
What can I do about it?
Endure... make the best of it.
As my best friend prepares to move out
and my parents prepare to move in...
How do you make the best of a pittance, a four year dry spell, and most of all- Topeka Kansas?
The voice of dissension in my brain just informed me that I COULD always get a lover...
He said it with such confidence- who am I to doubt him?
It'd certainly help.
But I have to have meaning
artistically and professionally
even in a perfect situation
if I don't have those two things, I'm sure to make someone miserable.
Meaning, validation, work, love, passion, results.
Love is a lottery in constant flux
I have work
I have several passions
I don't have the meaning
I don't have the results.
This is the grind portion of professional life, the experience mobbing, the stress test.
I just wish it didn't hit so flat.
I just wish I had started sooner.
At least it aint the army... but I've still gotta think.
Maybe this is bed thinking... hopefully have a report for you later.
