Jan. 10th, 2013


Jan. 10th, 2013 05:05 am
ghosthound: (Default)
I've mentioned my coworkers before.

I've mentioned how a number of them are miserable fucks. The most recent trend in their miserable fuckery is that it seems that they remembered that I'm only in my mid twenties where the youngest of them is in his late forties. This makes me still fall squarely in the range of "those ungrateful kids."

This title comes with everything you'd expect it to. I don't respect my elders based solely on the fact that they've seen more sunrises than I have, I don't follow pre-prescribed life paths to success, I have no intrinsic respect for the institution of marriage and I don't go out of my way to kill myself at any job thrown at me. All of these apparently make me a moral reprobate.

I feel like I'm fifteen again yelling back at some highschool teacher who is half as smart as me on a good day but... yeah. All of these things are true and for damn good reason.

Fuck you and your narratives, I say. They aren't valid out of hand any longer. Give respect to those who earn it, for sure. Never be afraid to ask someone who knows more than you, yeah. Don't be an idiot overcome by pride, definitely. But do not, under any circumstances, just assume that the way it was done before is the only way to do something.

I try and reason that the world is much changed from when they were children. I admit, though, that we are kids for longer now. Hell, I may be a kid forever in a sense beyond simply that of never losing the scope of wonder in the mind's eye to apathy. But, in the sense that I need not do the biblical "putting away of childish things" when it comes to what makes me happy or what I dream of doing, I may be forever immature.

I try to reason with them that life has to work with me if not for me. They still come from a time where one did what life laid out without question, it seems. They talk tall talk about how when they were coming up the world was some utopian place where nobody knew depravity and now the world is so encrusted with filth that it's not recognizable anymore. These are trite arguments and, yet, I allow myself to be pulled in. I fight a useless fight.

The only way I can win that fight is not find myself on their end when I reach that age.

On a note that is both related and unrelated at once, I broke up with my girlfriend three days ago.

I haven't mentioned her because I want to keep this blog as divorced from the people in my life as possible. I want to use it as a sort of venting journal as well as to restore some of the nostalgia I had from using livejournal years and years ago. I find it helps me to arrange my thoughts this way. It's helped in most aspects of my life, to be honest.

I broke up with her because she told me she wasn't getting what she wanted out of our relationship. I had no car. I had no glorious job. This left her to do all the driving and left the wage gap between us fairly obvious. She said she didn't want to keep wasting her time and I told her I'd do the kind thing and make it so she didn't have to. She intended to motivate me, obviously. She intended to spur me into action and fight for the right to be with her.

I just shrugged internally and let her down as gently as I could. I don't want that life. I don't want the life of a normal but slightly strange couple that she wanted. It would have led to moving in together, marriage (which is the last thing I want right now, personally) and scrubbing down all my eccentricity and slowly turning into something too boring for me even to hate.

Reading that back, it reeks of melodrama. Honestly giving it and her some thought... I find that it's probably true. She was the most normal, the most safe person I've ever dated. I dated her for years but during the whole of it she just stood out as the exemplified nature of opposites attracting. I mean, fuck... she'd never even been drunk before and she's twenty-four. She'd only had one other sex partner before me. She'd never been in a fight, stolen something or done anything wrong. Squeaky clean, that one.

Those are all perfectly valid life decisions but even I found myself wondering, sometimes. Now there is no wondering. It's done and over. I intend to still be a friend to her but I look back and wonder sometimes at how I should have ended it sooner. No changing the past, though. I can only focus on the present and future.

New year. New potential.

I'm going to have to get a fucking car or something, though. I very dearly don't want to as they do nothing but suck money away from people who own them and they need to be repaired every other week (or it seems so, anyway) but there may be no avoiding it.

Finally, since breaking up with her I've done more writing and practiced more per day than I did on any given day in the last year. That might be a good sign.


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