Okay, I'm stepping out of fandom for this post. It's all about me and my views on life. Not sure anyone will even be remotely interested, but I feel so much better after writing this.
Things that are making me miserable:
1.) My job.
I showed up eager to please, fell into deep apathy as I realized that I was completely replaceable/no one cares what I do/I will never, ever in the future possible of ever be getting the raise that I was PROMISED! when I started/my boss is a complete idiot/I'm never going to know what I'm doing, because no one bothered to teach me, because no one else knows either, and now I've fallen into a soul crushing hatred for the place that rivals my feelings for the Bush administration.
My "boss" is a barbie wanna-be who's worked there like two months longer than I have, and somehow passed over people who have been working there more than four years ... just because she's pretty and has her nose so far up my General Managers ass that the smell must be getting to her. My General Manager literally has no idea how to do any portion of our jobs, so she promoted this idiot to do her work.
Just to illustrate my point, this girl said to me last week, "Obama? We might as well elect Saddam Hussein. I think he's a Muslim or Buddhist or something. I mean, he looks like one of them." And at my gape mouthed silence and outraged demands for an explanation on why she's a republican, she goes on to say, "I don't know. My parents are republicans and I trust them to know what's right."
Jesus, it seriously sucks to know that you're smarter than every single one of your bosses. And all of your co-workers ... and all of the assholes that you're forced to wait on and get treated like shit by. It's just not a nice feeling.
Also, my "boss" makes $8.35 an hour, and confided to me that no one in the hotel was getting a raise this year. Why? Because the hotel is doing worse than it did last year. And the obvious fix to this problem is to keep raising prices even though we're already the most expensive hotel in the entire town. And yeah ... it's doing so poorly that the dumb fuck is building a new hotel ... that will be even more expensive. But none of us are getting raises. Even if we were promised them! Even if we work night shifts! Even if we work every holiday and every weekend, and we're forced to work a 9 day stretch over our fucking BIRTHDAYS!!!! Even then, no raise.
No respect. No consideration. And a preppy, barbie wanna-be "boss" that's pissed because I disrespected her, and now makes bitchy little comments to me about every thing I do. And seriously, I'm going to fucking snap. For the very first time ever, I kinda get how people make the decision to bring a semi-automatic to work. I mean, I'm not saying that's my plan. I wouldn't do that. I'm just saying ... I kinda get it.
I'm quitting. Seriously, if I'm still working in this hell hole at the end of the month I'm going to kill myself. No, I'm not going to be working there at the end of the month. I'm just fucking not. I refuse. I wish the entire fucking place would burn to the ground. I'm just done.
2.) I stopped smoking the happy plant. Want to hear why? It's fucking hilarious if you just read all that shit about how miserable I am. Ready for it?
Weed was making me too content. I mean, I was still vaguely miserable, but when you can come home at the end of the day and smoke a joint and just relax ... and you can look forward to going home and smoking at the end of your shitty day ... it just sort of takes a little of the edge off.
So, I stopped. Because I knew that I had goals and I was just twittering away my life. And my biggest motivating factor was always how miserable I was and my desire to get to something better. So, take away one of the things that makes my life worth living, and then I'll have goals again.
Yeah, it worked. But I'm seriously so tense and unhappy that I kinda can't handle it. And boy, am I getting bitchy again. Thankfully, I know the job that I'm going to apply for, and after a few months I'll get bumped up to full time and make over ten dollars an hour ... which, yeah, still pretty shitty, but way, way better than what I'm making now, so ... that's what I'm going to do.
And I get to start smoking again after I get a new job. I mean, I needed to stop in order to get my shit together and get a new job, but it's still going to take me forever to save up the money to go back to school, even working this new job, so I'm going to settle in - making about as much as I could hope to given my situation - and then start getting fucking stoned a few times a week, just to get me through it. The perfect plan? Not hardly. A workable plan ... I think so.
3.) It's going to take me forever to save up the money to go back to school! Fucking forever.
4.) I'm still living with my dad and his ex-girlfriend. I have almost no friends. The friends that I have made ... I don't even like. I work night shifts, so it's kinda hard to interact with the human world. Not to mention, this town has absolutely nothing to do. Absolutely nothing. I can't meet anyone. The only people I do meet are my co-workers and the only person in my general age range is barbie ... and I have about as much respect for her as I do the fish in our fish tanks. Less, actually. I named one of the fish - Carmen - and she was pretty cool. She followed me from one end of the tank to the other. They "removed" her because she didn't go with the other fish, which were all tropical looking while she was brown and flat. I'd like to think that they sent her somewhere where the fact that she was clearly the most intelligent meant something, like a school of fish! (Fuck, I'm lame.) But I think we all know that they just killed her and replaced her with something prettier.
Anyway, I have to go visit my grandma for some intelligent conversation and that's just fucking pathetic.
5.) I think about the meaning of life a lot. I have no idea what would make me happy. I don't even know if anything would, or anything could, or even that anyone is actually happy.
I do know that the happiest I've ever been is living with roommates that understand me and vibe with me. I'm not sure that going back to college and getting a better job and more money is going to make me happy at all. I'm not sure of anything.
I'm not sure that my self-sacrifice of living in a place that I hate just to save up money for school is actually worth anything. I'm constantly living for tomorrow, and maybe that's how I have to live, but just maybe I need to say "fuck all this noise" and convince some friends to move into an apartment somewhere with me and live my life like that. I just don't fucking know. And really, I don't know how anyone does.
6.) And this, strangely enough, is the hardest to talk about and the most depressing to admit to: I'm starting to think that I just don't have what it takes to write.
And some deeply introspective life affirming meandering:
Everything else - every fucking thing - can be spun into something good. I understand people now. So much better than when I was younger. The psych degree that I was going for in college would have been useless to me, because I wouldn't have understand the people that I was counseling. But I've been there now, you know? I always had an inner strength before. I always had faith in myself and the unwavering belief that I could be great. That's still there, but I understand the world now. I understand how shit happens, and people are just trying their best to get through the day. I understand how people could get addicted. How people could fall so far as to want to kill themselves. I understand the great empty abyss that can swallow people up and eat away their souls.
And all that makes me a better person. A more understanding person. A better friend, lover, counselor, and writer.
It should make me a better writer because I have things to write about now. I understand people and the cruel, unending randomness of life. But I'm starting to think that I don't have the follow through or the skill to write like I want to.
And, I guess, really, even that should make me happy. Because the prospect of never publishing a novel actually hurts me. And really, isn't that the kind of passion that could make life worth living? I keeping looking for what could make me happy and what I really want to do, and yet I'm in a position to actually do what would make me happy now. I don't need money, or a degree or any friends.
And since I've stopped smoking I've felt the pressing need to write again. Frankly, when I could still come home and smoke a joint all I had the pressing need to do was watch Malcolm in the Middle and decompress. Which, yeah, I'm not talking shit on Malcolm in the Middle because I think it holds the answers to most of life's mysteries. And I wouldn't begrudge myself all the deep, searching conversations in my head that smoking alone granted me.
Part of me hears myself say things like that - like how I understand people and how my failures have allowed me to grow and how I'm not sure what the point of life is - and I think that I'm making excuses for the failure my life has become. I hear, "That's loser talk!" in my head, and I'm not sure which voice is right. That's another thing that deep, deep thought has allowed me. For every argument and every view point there's another argument that's just about as valid. And really, I'm not sure that logic can answer those questions. It's all about priorities and values. It's all about people doing, and believing what they need to in order to support, justify and rationalize what they need/want/can't help but do.
I still want the recognition. I still want respect. From others, and from myself. I miss how I used to feel about myself. Like every other person wasn't as important as I am, and how their opinions of me don't matter because I'm BETTER than they are. Now, I don't feel better than other people. I mean, yeah, I feel better than some people. But mostly, I feel like it's a level playing field. And I don't take other people's opinions of me too seriously, because I know that they're just doing the best they can and they need to hold on to whatever hierarchy that's in their heads, just so that they like themselves and can get through their days. But I miss the unwavering belief in myself that I once had. I miss the belief that the people who are on top deserve it, because that made it easy for me to know where I should be. It made ambition noble.
But then I see the people who've made it to the top, and I realize that most of them are as miserable as the rest of us. People assume that what they have the least of is the most important thing in the world, and they go about getting it for themselves. But once they've got it ... what then?
Am I lucky that I've learned these things so early in life? Should I count my lucky stars that I've still got time to maybe, just maybe find meaning in life before it's too late? Or am I just making excuses for the ways that I've failed myself? And who can possibly answer those questions when everyone builds their own beliefs around the decisions that they've made?
One thing I do know is that it would be easy to sit in place and spin my wheels, so busy looking for the right thing that I do nothing at all. It would be easy for all of us. It's why people cling to their beliefs. It's why they'll argue passionately, illogically for a religion that is easier to prove false than prove genuine. It's why disillusioned and aimless is so fucking dangerous.
So, I'm going to write. And I'm going to keep thinking. And I'm going to find a job that pays more money, not because I think it'll make me happy, but because life is a game and our society has made up all the rules. And in this game, money equals freedom and it's a lot easier to be happy free than it is to be happy when you're oppressed and caged.
And I'll always be aware that my ideas and beliefs could all be built upon trying to find meaning in my failures, but at some point that doesn't matter. And it's going to have to be this point, or I'll just sit here and spin for the rest of my life.