You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.
I find that I am deleting stuff more and more often these days. I’m not sure why. Part of it is probably just general fatigue. I have had that feeling lately of being stuck in a rut. I’m a long-term planner by nature; I always have big, lofty goals, and no idea as to how to achieve them. I’m not really sure why I started this blog, besides the need to have a space to vent about shit. It might be nice if we had a little bit more traffic around here, but since I don’t know how much, I’m not sure what I’m really complaining about. Let me put it another way: If you watch The Daily Show, you might remember a recent segment in which Jordan Klepper (who is proving to be a worthy addition to the cast so far) went around talking to conservative upstarts who were trying to unseat a Republican Congressman for not being conservative enough. The problem is that for these people, there is no such thing as “enough”. No matter how much you hate the gays or love guns, there is always somebody who hates the gays and loves guns just a little bit more. So I try not to be like that. I try to have an endpoint in sight. I may never meet it, but at least I have an idea as to when it will be time to move on.
I wonder if other people see me as passive. I’m not really sure what to do about that. I used to go to work with the intention of just giving people what they wanted, but I’m starting to think it’s a little bit more complicated than that. Apparently, you are allowed to be an individual, even when you’re just a damn barista. They used to stick me on register all the time. I would show up to work, somebody else (who often had not been working there as long as I had) would start making drinks, and I would be stuck saying, “Hi, how are you?” over and over again for hours. That needs to stop. So one day, I just jumped on bar. They told me to get back on register, but I think they got the hint anyway. Maybe they just assumed that because I never complained, that must mean that I like being a cashier? Being a cashier is draining. I spent a summer working at KMART, and at the time, I had never hated anything more than that job. I’m not in a hurry to get out of this and move on to the next thing, I just think that no matter where you are, you probably need a little variety to stave off boredom.
If things go this way for much longer, my job at the coffee shop will be the longest-running job I’ve ever had. I hate it when people say, “Oh, those last four years just flew by!” when talking about high school and shit, so instead, I’ll say that there have been a lot of boring passages, but I don’t intend to give it up anytime soon. Perhaps that’s why I’m having second thoughts about the job I interviewed for yesterday. The interviewer was perfectly nice and it seemed like a lovely business, but even though it was part-time and they were flexible about hours, I’m not sure if I’d be able to comfortably work it into my current schedule. My hours change every week at the coffee shop, and my manager has promised me more once I get better at making drinks. Maybe I should wait a little longer before taking on another job.
It’s only now that I’m starting to realize how deeply people are socialized to believe that they are incomplete without a partner. Basically every fucking movie, book, and TV show teaches you that the ultimate joy in life is being coupled. Bullshit. Maybe what has been holding me back all these years is the fear that if I got a boyfriend, I would have to spend all of my fucking time with him and tell him everything about myself. I have no intention of doing that with anyone at any time, ever. It doesn’t matter how wonderful you are; even if we live together and you’ve had your dick in my mouth, the odds that I won’t still sometimes want to go to my room, close the door, and spend six hours not talking to you are exactly zero. Deal with it.
My mother doesn’t seem to understand me. I think it’s because she thinks that because she lives her life a certain way, so should I. There is nothing more dehumanizing than being told that this is just how the world works, and you’ll be so much better off once you accept that. No, I don’t. It’s been over four years since the dam broke in my head. I dream almost every night (everyone does, but I’m talking about the ones you remember) and I still spend way too much time either pining for shit I don’t have or being angry at people who wronged me years ago. Someday, I might reach a point where I don’t do that. But I won’t get there by sharing things with my mother just because she shares similar things with my dad. He often complains about all of the shit she doesn’t tell him, so clearly, she isn’t being perfectly honest here.
I don’t really have a conclusion here. I think part of the reason I’m so afraid to leave Facebook is that I’m worried that if I leave, I’ll never see most of these people again. Of course, I really don’t want to see most of them again, but there is a part of me that wonders why nobody from work has added me yet. From what I hear, young people are moving on to other forms of social media. I think this will be the last I ever want with it.
Life is actually not that short provided that you use your time wisely. High school did not fly by, nor did college, nor have these past twenty-plus years. It just feels that way because nostalgia has a way of sugar-coating everything. I choose to believe that there is a middle ground between being pretending that you don’t have a past and trying to live in it. I’m still working to understand my past so that I might finally be able to plan my future. Let’s go exploring.