One night I am alone in my house, compliling lists of friends from the past. It grows dark, and I begin to wish for company. The list sits before me on the table, reproaching me with intimations of missed opportunities and regretful abandonments.
There is a scratching at the window, and absently I open it, assuming that one of my cats is feeling lonely too. To my dismay, a small devil-creature, salivating with anticipation, leaps squatly into the room. I recognise it immediately as being of the type to possess the soul without hesitation. Backing away from its gleaming eyes, I consider my options. With a flash of intelligence, I announce to the devil-creature that it is yesterday, and today I am dead.
The creature looks quizzically at me. I insist that it has made an error - it is yesterday, and later this evening I kill myself with a large, sharp kitchen knife. I am dead. My soul has gone. The devil-creature is too late. It looks puzzled, but I explain, with placatory hand movements, that this is really a simple matter. As I am already dead, there is no point in attempting to take my soul. Come back in a week, I tell the devil-creature. The landlord will have re-let the house, and there will be fresh prey. Huffing and puffing, the creature waddles back to the window, and lurches off into the night.
Congratulating myself on my quick thinking, I close the window. I sit down once more in front of my list, and it is with a heavy heart that I wander into the kitchen and begin rifling through the knife drawer.
My mother is a source of constant disappointment, I hate spending time with her because I'm always reminded of growing up with her and being forced to act as the adult and take care of her because she refused to grow up. But rather than list any or all of the times she disappointed me, I will talk about the first time I ever disappointed her.
Once, while I was cleaning my room and going through some old stuff in my closet, I found my baby book that my parents half-heartedly filled out for a bit until I was no longer a novel thing in their lives. A few pages in I saw a page that had spaces for "Mom's first words to baby" and "Dad's first words to baby", on mom's line I could read in her handwriting, "we'll have to try again for a boy". when I asked my aunt (my mom's sister) who was there when I was born, if those were indeed her first words to me, my aunt confirmed it.
Be it poetic justice or ill luck, my mom never had a son and I remained her only child. And to this day, I am not enough for her.
Who ever said hard work will get you anywhere in life has never worked a day in their life. Your parents, your teachers and your bosses alll say work hard and you will make it in life.
I have worked harder then anyone I know. I started from living on the streets working my ass off with minimum wage jobs while educating myself. I spent years working 20+ hour days just to get ahead and to get to a point where I am happy and have a good life. Now after all these years of hard work and labor I'm still 1 foot out the door to living on the streets.
Hard work will get you no where if you start with nothing. Anyone who says otherwise started out life with everything they needed or wanted. Don't waste your time trying to work your way too happiness. Just be fucking happy and poor. I regret ever potting all this effort into "bettering" myself and disappointed with the results and where I am in life in general.
When I was young, I always wanted to be a store manager of a shoes/clothing store. When I get my first manager position at Aldo, it seemed like I was finally going to make my dreams come true. Unfortunately, I was working at a dying mall, and the store had to cut one manager. Because I was the newest, I got cut. Even though it wasn't my fault, I felt like I had failed.
4 comments:
One night I am alone in my house, compliling lists of friends from the past. It grows dark, and I begin to wish for company. The list sits before me on the table, reproaching me with intimations of missed opportunities and regretful abandonments.
There is a scratching at the window, and absently I open it, assuming that one of my cats is feeling lonely too. To my dismay, a small devil-creature, salivating with anticipation, leaps squatly into the room. I recognise it immediately as being of the type to possess the soul without hesitation. Backing away from its gleaming eyes, I consider my options. With a flash of intelligence, I announce to the devil-creature that it is yesterday, and today I am dead.
The creature looks quizzically at me. I insist that it has made an error - it is yesterday, and later this evening I kill myself with a large, sharp kitchen knife. I am dead. My soul has gone. The devil-creature is too late. It looks puzzled, but I explain, with placatory hand movements, that this is really a simple matter. As I am already dead, there is no point in attempting to take my soul. Come back in a week, I tell the devil-creature. The landlord will have re-let the house, and there will be fresh prey. Huffing and puffing, the creature waddles back to the window, and lurches off into the night.
Congratulating myself on my quick thinking, I close the window. I sit down once more in front of my list, and it is with a heavy heart that I wander into the kitchen and begin rifling through the knife drawer.
My mother is a source of constant disappointment, I hate spending time with her because I'm always reminded of growing up with her and being forced to act as the adult and take care of her because she refused to grow up. But rather than list any or all of the times she disappointed me, I will talk about the first time I ever disappointed her.
Once, while I was cleaning my room and going through some old stuff in my closet, I found my baby book that my parents half-heartedly filled out for a bit until I was no longer a novel thing in their lives. A few pages in I saw a page that had spaces for "Mom's first words to baby" and "Dad's first words to baby", on mom's line I could read in her handwriting, "we'll have to try again for a boy". when I asked my aunt (my mom's sister) who was there when I was born, if those were indeed her first words to me, my aunt confirmed it.
Be it poetic justice or ill luck, my mom never had a son and I remained her only child. And to this day, I am not enough for her.
Urbn
Who ever said hard work will get you anywhere in life has never worked a day in their life. Your parents, your teachers and your bosses alll say work hard and you will make it in life.
I have worked harder then anyone I know. I started from living on the streets working my ass off with minimum wage jobs while educating myself. I spent years working 20+ hour days just to get ahead and to get to a point where I am happy and have a good life. Now after all these years of hard work and labor I'm still 1 foot out the door to living on the streets.
Hard work will get you no where if you start with nothing. Anyone who says otherwise started out life with everything they needed or wanted. Don't waste your time trying to work your way too happiness. Just be fucking happy and poor. I regret ever potting all this effort into "bettering" myself and disappointed with the results and where I am in life in general.
I was happier on the streets.
When I was young, I always wanted to be a store manager of a shoes/clothing store. When I get my first manager position at Aldo, it seemed like I was finally going to make my dreams come true. Unfortunately, I was working at a dying mall, and the store had to cut one manager. Because I was the newest, I got cut. Even though it wasn't my fault, I felt like I had failed.
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