I hate working in an office. While it may pay the bills and keep food on the table currently, I loathe devoting 40 hours of my life every week to some isolated corner cubicle facing away from the rest of the office. All day every day I hear the fast hurried heavy footsteps fly behind me; PJ, a fellow coworker's sandals, jingle jangle like sleigh bells with every step she takes, alerting everyone in the office of her presence. The President, is the worst and most quietest. It seems, whenever my computer screen veers away from my intended work, I can hear a wisp of lightly padded shoes blow past me as all I see is a cloud of salt and pepper hair float by. Shit! I think to myself as I click back to my approved screen.I wasn't meant for work in an office. Not a serious one run by Baby Boomers. No, I should be able to telecommute as I please, drink macchiatos at a coffee shop and read over my work. Skype should or would not be just an app on my iPad for personal use.
I am 26 years young and I feel stunted. This is not my idea of an ideal lifestyle. I'd be making more money, I'd be committing less time (or at least not be counting down the hours upon arrival of my work destination), and I'd be travelling. I am doing none of these things. My next ambition would be to sell all of my belongings and buy a Winnebago and drive around the country living out of my car for a year. Maybe then I'd write that "great american novel" my mother is always blathering about. I think she is my one and only greatest fan. If I ever manage to get published I'd probably dedicate a book to her, if she plays her cards right, but I digress.
The problem with my writing is tangents. I think I have ADD as I can never solely focus on one train of thought. Perhaps it's because it's Monday and my brain is still trying kick start. Perhaps the alternator of my neurons is not registering to the starter in my brain. My body is an engine and yet I don't feel quite at rest...more so dead.
I wonder if other people with favorable jobs, hate Mondays. I wonder if I didn't hate Mondays would I be one of those workaholics; married to my job and to invested in myself. Now I just feel tired all of the time. If my parents had warned me that being adult entails a lifetime of tiredness I probably would've ended my life at 22. At 22, everything seems to go downhill. Your body deceives you, the things you once did with ease, hurt or make you sick. The things you consume can have negative consequences. You begin to settle in relationships because you know you're not getting any younger and all of your friends are starting to pop out engagement rings or kids, or both.
Mondays make me hate life, not because I miss the warm comfort of my dog and my bed, not because I'm the opposite of a morning person, nor the reenactment of my commute, work, commute routine. Mondays represent all of the bad in the world. Nothing but a purely negative emotion swaddled in lack of motivation and realizing this was not the life I had once imagined for myself. I can't wait to be finished with Grad school so I can get the fuck on with my life and at all costs AVOID Mondays.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Friday, July 5, 2013
Happy Belated 4th
I feel as if I am going to be a writer, I must document the truths of my life as they come and go. As I sit here drinking my margarita at noon,I will tell you this story now.
Yesterday was indeed a memorable holiday. I awoke to my darling Eleanor Rigby, snoozing away doggy dreams of chasing that uncatchable squirrel and tucked between my arms like a teddy bear to keep away the monsters. The day had greeted me as the sun's rays beamed into my eyelids from a gap between my curtain and the window. I shuffled out of bed and went through my daily routine; piss, cigarette, shit, coffee. As I thumbed through my emails on the toilet, Rigby came to lay at my feet. We unfortunately, cannot close doors as she will cry, howl and bark through our apartment complex's thin walls and ceilings.
Later M, a best friendship formed in my collegiate days, called and we planned our itinerary for the day. I wish could say my day was more eventful. I wish could tell you ninjas popped out and together me and Eleanor Rigby fought them off with our Kung Fu skills; her swinging her rope toy like nunchucks. But no. Instead the day progressed that normal hum drum life expectation and I killed time watching TV and smoking.
2PM. I drove, in my blue and white rented smart car to the grocery store to meet M. I zipped and swerved effortlessly into the city where, I luckily managed to parallel park between two enormous SUVs. I gotta get me one of these toy cars! I entered the grocery store, packed with panicked patrons. Aisle by aisle I combed for the various items I needed and my friend. To no surprise she was by the seafood. Reason why I love her #57. We discussed the purchase of alcohol, minding our spending limits, paid for our groceries and zipped back toward my apartment in my little rented toy car.
5PM M's macaroni and cheese casserole is baking in the oven, the smells of cheddar and mozzarella wafting pleasantly into my nostrils. I shucked the sweet white corn, and placed it into a pot to boil, remembering my boyfriend's mother's instructions to add both sugar and salt to the water. M and I washed and breaded the chicken wings to later fry using my grandmother's recipe, with a few Add ins of my own. We laughed and drank and played Cards to the sizzling of the meat. After the meal was complete and consumed we sat, our pants clenching to our waistlines and us sluggish from its deliciousness.
8:50 PM. We scaled the ladder leading to the roof of my apartment building. With each step comes flashbacks of my childhood climbing the ladder towards the loft in my childhood home that was once my playroom before my mother remarried. The room overlooking the forest was gone when I reached the top and discovered a jungle, one made of asphalt and concrete. Successful, we set up chairs and beers and gazed at sky. Around us everywhere the sky glistened and smoked with greens, reds, blues, silvers, golds, purples and pinks. The fireworks danced, shooting higher and higher bursting with streams of color and collision. Beyond the "Oos" and "Ahs" we were transcended into our childhoods, the first real time where you remember the overwhelming visual sensations of discovering something so beautiful and so powerful. A few of my other neighbors joined us and together we enjoyed the night. We had our own fireworks display not lasting , mere minutes, but hours. The streets DC celebrate their independence as the flames soared high like flags of freedom. In the distance Bruce Springsteen played "Born in the USA" and for the first time in all 26 years of my life I embraced patriotism and was proud to be an American if only for one night.
Yesterday was indeed a memorable holiday. I awoke to my darling Eleanor Rigby, snoozing away doggy dreams of chasing that uncatchable squirrel and tucked between my arms like a teddy bear to keep away the monsters. The day had greeted me as the sun's rays beamed into my eyelids from a gap between my curtain and the window. I shuffled out of bed and went through my daily routine; piss, cigarette, shit, coffee. As I thumbed through my emails on the toilet, Rigby came to lay at my feet. We unfortunately, cannot close doors as she will cry, howl and bark through our apartment complex's thin walls and ceilings.
Later M, a best friendship formed in my collegiate days, called and we planned our itinerary for the day. I wish could say my day was more eventful. I wish could tell you ninjas popped out and together me and Eleanor Rigby fought them off with our Kung Fu skills; her swinging her rope toy like nunchucks. But no. Instead the day progressed that normal hum drum life expectation and I killed time watching TV and smoking.
2PM. I drove, in my blue and white rented smart car to the grocery store to meet M. I zipped and swerved effortlessly into the city where, I luckily managed to parallel park between two enormous SUVs. I gotta get me one of these toy cars! I entered the grocery store, packed with panicked patrons. Aisle by aisle I combed for the various items I needed and my friend. To no surprise she was by the seafood. Reason why I love her #57. We discussed the purchase of alcohol, minding our spending limits, paid for our groceries and zipped back toward my apartment in my little rented toy car.
5PM M's macaroni and cheese casserole is baking in the oven, the smells of cheddar and mozzarella wafting pleasantly into my nostrils. I shucked the sweet white corn, and placed it into a pot to boil, remembering my boyfriend's mother's instructions to add both sugar and salt to the water. M and I washed and breaded the chicken wings to later fry using my grandmother's recipe, with a few Add ins of my own. We laughed and drank and played Cards to the sizzling of the meat. After the meal was complete and consumed we sat, our pants clenching to our waistlines and us sluggish from its deliciousness.
8:50 PM. We scaled the ladder leading to the roof of my apartment building. With each step comes flashbacks of my childhood climbing the ladder towards the loft in my childhood home that was once my playroom before my mother remarried. The room overlooking the forest was gone when I reached the top and discovered a jungle, one made of asphalt and concrete. Successful, we set up chairs and beers and gazed at sky. Around us everywhere the sky glistened and smoked with greens, reds, blues, silvers, golds, purples and pinks. The fireworks danced, shooting higher and higher bursting with streams of color and collision. Beyond the "Oos" and "Ahs" we were transcended into our childhoods, the first real time where you remember the overwhelming visual sensations of discovering something so beautiful and so powerful. A few of my other neighbors joined us and together we enjoyed the night. We had our own fireworks display not lasting , mere minutes, but hours. The streets DC celebrate their independence as the flames soared high like flags of freedom. In the distance Bruce Springsteen played "Born in the USA" and for the first time in all 26 years of my life I embraced patriotism and was proud to be an American if only for one night.
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