I’ve been begging my fingers to allow me to write, but you know how the words are. Fickle. They either don’t appear at all or they scuttle around like wild animals that are so fucking hard to catch. Books are like zoos. Let someone else do all the hard and dangerous work, make it look real pretty, feed those wild creatures, train them, and put them on display.

I’ll try not to knock on the glass, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

A month of heavy boots has brought with it the scandalizing realization that I have allowed myself to fall so far into a nameless unhappiness that I’ve no sense of entry or exit. Having much to do with my new employment, I’m sure; I toyed seriously with the idea of quitting this weekend, but I’m still just not sure. I mean, in some hypothetical way, I realize that everyone has to start somewhere and that most new jobs come with a despondent feeling of not being able to keep pace. I’ve got my seasonal heavy boots, though, and this shit is difficult. As a rookie and an intern, I can’t shake the feeling that the things I’m learning are a hassle to teach and that they’re politely biding their time until the appointed day finally comes and they can take me into the office and dismiss me with a brutal, “… and while we assume you’re an intelligent individual, we just don’t think this job brings that out.” Or something.

This all sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s all I’ve got. In a day-to-day way, there’s not a whole lot of evidence of anyone around me ever having a hard time. And it’s like that everywhere, isn’t it? As the new person. If you’re new at the office, the store, or wherever; things are so relative and when everyone around you makes everything look so easy, you start to feel like maybe you missed a really essential limited-release OS update and now everyone else is optimal while you’re left with yesterday’s lag.

I know I’m not the only one who’s felt like this.
I know I’m not the only one in the office who’s felt like this.
But it sure feels like it.

What’s worse is that I don’t feel like I’m MAKING anything. Sure, I’m helping to create websites and products which aid in website development, but what’s the point? Everything we make will be moot or outdated in a few months, a few years at most, and then what? Then we re-make it? There’s an urgency in this industry that asks us to always out-do ourselves. To stay on top of what’s hot, what’s new, what’s what.

So on Friday, when I had decided to quit—had decided to give up gracefully my internship, take out a fat loan for school and take it easy for a while, I felt so justified. I said to myself, I said, “you’ll work at the Gothic; get a book or coffee shop job and just hush up.” And I would, I’m sure. I’m certainly not incapable. And, more importantly, I’m 22 years old.

For crying out loud, life is too short to fold fitted sheets or make toast or use spoons or napkins and it’s absolutely too short to waste toiling away in a career I have no passion for.

Life is too short.
Too short to do that.

With more time, I could volunteer at the Emily Griffith Opportunity School, like I wanted to. I could try to get my photography to a place where folks would pay me for it.

I guess?
I don’t know.

I do know that should I ever lose faith in myself I know well that I’ll find it again in the folks around me. I am a lucky girl. I am surrounded by support and loved by so many unconditional persons I feel myself unable to completely slip away into a pudding-fed hermit misery. Through the mouths of many folks, I was told that I shouldn’t stay anywhere if I find myself chronically unhappy and that I’m smart enough to find something else to occupy my hands and feed my bank account. No doubt.

So what’s to do?

Well, I thought about it.
I thought about it a whole lot.
And I’ve decided that, while I don’t particularly care for this job, this will my last week of having to work full time and maybe school will be the break I need between days. I’ll speak with my boss tomorrow about hours and expectations and see if I can’t calm my nervous heart that way.

Here goes nothing, amirite?

there is a sourceless anger
eating at me
from inside here
and it’s providing me
with such lovely ways
to disappoint.
hard work is hard work, though
and
it’s not as though i closed my ears
and refused progression
it’s just that
i have a face full of honest weather
and I need
someone
to rub the sadness
right out of my shoulders,
neck
back and
feets.

Mullets, tank tops, whiskey and mosh pits, oh yes.

This is something that’s made my life intolerable for a very long time:

→ Next Friday vs This Friday
To a lot of people, when referring to days of the week, ‘Next’ and ‘This’ are basically synonymous. For example, if it is Monday and you say “let’s meet next Friday” or “let’s meet this Friday” you mean the one in four days.

In LOGICAL LAND where people say things that AREN’T CONFUSING, things make more sense: if on Monday you say, “let’s meet this Friday,” you mean the one in four days, however, if you say “let’s meet next Friday,” you mean the one in eleven days.

attract-
	shun -tion
  to
  towards  emotionally awkward
		               chaotic
		               damaged
       individuals is ubiquitous
                   a song-thing that plays
 		 my heart strings
                 tenacious melodies!
		   without the timing or tact
          		   to consider the situation
	or surroundings
	or persons involved.
but
emotional extremists are
	E L E C T R I C !
		their over-sensitive
		            indulgent
                            selfish
		natures win them life
		over and over again
		while
	E X H A U S T I N G !
--or, worse yet: E X T I N G U I S H I N G! --
 	     those around them.

and what for?
excuses. excuses. excuses.

it's just that
	it's so easy to be emotional
		you know?
"you can always make a scene…
          highs and lows make you feel that things matter,
                            but they’re nothing."