That’s Not It
Sometimes I wonder. I mean, it is my life. It’s the only one I get. Shouldn’t I do what makes me happiest? There are so many things possible in this city. So many things you could never get away with anywhere else. And with this insane technology, even more so. So why not have it all? Why not just go get what I want, everyone else be damned?
Could I marry someone I don’t love and have a love life with someone I do? I probably could. I mean, right now, for instance, the person I love won’t marry me. Not now, not next year, probably not even five years from now. I’m not sure if I can wait that long. I want someone to make a commitment to me. I want some fucking insurance. I want stability.
Ironic, since it means I’d probably be lying to them about giving them the same thing.
But sometimes, like now, I think the façade would be enough. I need resources to build the kind of life I want. And I have no patience. I never have had any fucking patience.
Not to mention focus. I can only ever focus on things that give me a guttural sense of passion. That’s not school. That’s not the inane response papers I write, analogies within research papers that basically amount to pure bullshit, not essays on sociological minutia that just DOESN’T MATTER or literary analysis that is no longer relevant and only a handful of people in the world will ever give a shit about.
That’s not it. Not it. Not it.
But they make me grind through this to get to the passion. And I’m sick of the grind. I got too far behind by doing what I wanted to do. And now I need resources. Fuck me, but I need resources and to get the hell out of this ditch I’ve dug and this passionless, irrelevant zone of pontificating self-important clueless wankjob waste of spacers.
Need out.
But no, I’d tear myself apart every day. There would be nothing left for anyone.
And is that better? Is it?
Well, maybe.
