Thursday, January 22, 2015


I should probably create a better writing schedule for myself. Currently I do this thing called "rushed at 10am to shit out something for my blog or 'novel' or top secret project with Laura before I have to throw on stupid work clothes for stupid work where I babysit for four stupid mind numbing hours." It's really a thing. Google it. And let me clarify, in case I get Googled and my coworkers and or boss and or other official adults read this -- Look! Work is great! I am so lucky to have a job and I really like working with the kids, most days, and I am just being a typical bratty Millennial by bitching about a low-key part-time gig. And I'm just being funny! Sometimes we exaggerate when we are trying to be funny, you know? You know! You are cool! You are a great coworker/boss/official adult!

So maybe I am also an official adult. I will be 31 in June, which is the age when you are issued a card by the government (the government is chalk-full of official adults, by the way) as proof that you are an official adult. No, it doesn't mean you are capable of being an official adult, but simply that you are one. One in a million. More like one in 31 million. You are a lone 31-year-old in a crowd of 31 million. Don't laminate the card. Keep it with you at all times to prevent identity fraud. Slip it into your stupid work slacks and get back to typing/stapling/filing/copying/gossiping over the water cooler that doesn't exist. Why doesn't your office have a water cooler? All it offers is a vending machine, which steals your bills and is always out of Coke products.

And I could quickly and silently become a product instead of a producer if I hang on to this card. I'd allow others to speak for me and I'd stop creating. What's the use when you are wearing uncomfortable pants and are searching for a soda because you are so goddamn thirsty? Too bad you don't have any change left. You'd settle for a Pepsi. But you still have that spark that wants a change, that can't fathom settling for less than exactly what you want. It's figuring out what you want that keeps you up at night. It's figuring out what you will freely give your life to. It's figuring out how to keep the hope alive when the oxygen in the office starts coming in short supply.

Whoa. What in the hell am I writing? Are you still reading? Have I worried/offended you? This was fun to write, though! Hey! Fun! That's good! But I want to get at something as well. Maybe I dig too deep too soon. Maybe I try to wrap up all of my posts/thoughts with profound insights. Not every story needs an obvious moral, though. A to B can be kind of boring. Voluntarily getting lost in the labyrinth has its value. I think I'll keep wandering and see where it takes me.

I just hope it doesn't lead me to a deceitful vending machine.

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