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Ramblings
Thursday, February 23, 2006. 9:28 p.m.Tricksy The second month of my employment is drawing to a close. There are periods of inactivity when no one seems to have anything for me to do, and it's both cool and a little shameful that I'm still drawing a paycheck for those idle days. But for the most part, I've actually been working. Not working hard, mind (at least not in comparison to everyone else), but harder than I've worked in a long time. Right now I'm a little bit swamped with several assignments that have been dumped on my lap all at the same time. And you know what the funny thing is? I'm not feeling particularly harassed. I'm not even getting the acidic stomachaches I usually get whenever I even think about work. Aw, hell, I'm just going to come right out and say it: I actually feel pretty damn good. I'm not having a ball or anything, because work by definition is the antithesis of fun. But it feels good to know that I'm doing something useful with my time. It feels good to know that I'm actually doing something to earn the money that comes to me every payday. And as cornball as it sounds, it feels really good to know I'm helping my family, even if it's in the tiniest, most insignificant way possible. ... Damn it, they got me. Why I Love Michael Avon Oeming Make it happen, Cartoon Network. I'll love you forever if you do. On Peter Pan and Other Things I don't like change. Never have. It doesn't matter if it's the sudden and violent kind of change or the quiet, insidious sort that creeps up on you and doesn't even have the courtesy to announce itself until it's too damn late --- I don't like it. My ideal life would be lived in a vaccuum, with the same routine day in and out, where the only changes that exist are the ones that I make myself. If I had any courage, I'd chuck everything I own and go on a trek to Tibet or some such place untouched by civilization. Stay there and meditate and all that shit until I inevitably neglect my body and waste away to nothing. That would be ten levels of awesome. As it is, I'm stuck at home, staring at my computer screen and wondering where the life that I loved with all my heart has gone. You know, the life that consisted of waking up at four in the afternoon, doing nothing all day and finally falling asleep at four in the morning. The life where the only companionship I needed came in the form of a beautiful and lively dog, who I still miss so much that it sometimes makes me sick to my stomach. The life where my time was absolutely worthless, but still precious to me because it was mine. My worthless, precious time. These days, my life consists of what is essentially a bastardization of my old life combined with a new, unwelcome one that I haven't found a fitting name for. I still stay at home all day long and I still go by my erratic biological clock (sleeping and eating at odd hours during night and day), but for all intents and purposes, my time is no longer my own to do with what I like. Nope. I am now gainfully employed. I have a paycheck coming to me every fifteen days. I pay taxes. I have a social security number. I am at the beck and call of a wide variety of well-meaning but pushy superiors. Laugh if you will, but this new and intrusive life is slowly but surely whittling away at my old one. In a month, there'll be nothing left of it. And that? That I hate. I wasn't cut out for this. I've only been at my job a month and already I feel like screaming and beating my head against the wall. I'm restless and more irritable than usual and I haven't had a truly peaceful sleep in weeks. I couldn't stand having an institution's standards and requirements forced on me when I was in school, and I doubt I'll be able to handle it now. And the fact that I'm working for my family... I don't know whether that makes things better or worse. Maybe both? Oh, God, I hate to say it, but I think it might be true: I'm being forced into adulthood against my will. Now that may not be a big deal to people who are already there or --- heaven forfend --- people who are actually looking forward to it, but to a person who has actively been resisting adulthood all her life, it is fucking scary beyond all reason. I don't care that I'm being a big goddamn baby. I hate it. Adulthood means compromises. Adulthood means trading dreams for responsibilities. Adulthood means taking shit from other people where youth would have allowed me to tell people to go fuck themselves. Adulthood is the great big nothingness where "all things are possible" gets knocked down to just over a handful of possibilities. And worst of all, adulthood isn't going to wait patiently for me to come around to the idea that it might not be such a bad thing after all. It'll kick my door down, park its ass on my bed, eat all my potato chips and tell me that it's here to stay. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, kid. Hell, it's already ambling up the street. It'll be on my doorstep before I get the chance to make an escape. So now I'm saying it while I can: fuck you and the horse you rode in on, adulthood. I plan to go down fighting. |
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