Sigh.
I do shitty things to myself sometimes.
Cameron was up and about today so I was excited, maybe we'd get to go do something and I'd get out of the fucking house for a few hours of fun. He didn't really want to go anywhere (getting out of bed and showering is just too much effort) so I called my dad. He and Justice were going to a little girl birthday party for one of her friends so I wanted to tag along. At least I'd go somewhere, maybe get some free dinner, and I haven't seen my dad in a long while. I call him, but no answer. I wait an hour or so after leaving a message and try him again, no answer. I gave up and just hung out at Barnes & Noble all afternoon, reading the Sandman comics and that's what really tripped off my sad spiral.
Sandman, if you haven't read it, is a gorgeous comic series that deals with concepts and themes that I adore. I've tried to deal with giant entities that are at once human and entirely alien at the same time in my own writing attempts a long time ago, but I don't really have the skill, so to see it done in a way that is so great, so masterful was thrilling on one hand, because I love this stuff, and really depressing because I can't do this stuff. And that's when I realized that I don't have any dreams.
All I want right now is to graduate from college, get a high-paying job, and then do whatever the hell I want. Which is a childish and unrealistic thought, I know, but that's what I wish. That's the closest thing to a dream I have right now. Finish college. Get job. Live in lap of luxury (relatively speaking). I used to want to be a writer, to be at least nominally famous for being artsy and intellectual and awesome. Then I gave up on that because I don't have a great writing talent and I'm unwilling to take classes for it. I cringe and want to die at the thought of someone reading my writing with a critical eye and telling me anything bad about it. It's like the writing is my baby and anyone saying something bad about it is a pesonal insult to my abilities as a genetic source.
So I moved on to French. In high school I was good at French, really good. But the biggest thing that made me good was my teacher. Mrs. Sestero taught in a way that was the most perfect fit for the way I learn ever, and I couldn't even explain why. So I thought I'd get a degree in French, maybe be an interpreter or a translator for books or something like that. But then I took it from a different teacher and it wasnt' easy anymore. I hated it. So I dropped that idea too.
Then came Cameron. Suddenly I didn't need any dreams, I just needed enough money to support myself so that I could stay with him forever. My life revolved around Cameron. Everyday it was, "What can I do for Cameron? How can I spend more time with him? Oo, he'd like that shirt/game/movie/whatever. Hm, let's have sex! No? ... Okay, maybe next time." I took all the crap he dished out because I was so deliriously happy being in love. And I was in love, every single day for those 3+ years. It was easy to keep things fresh, it took almost no conscious thought to stay in the butterflies-in-the-stomach, walking-on-air level of lovey-ness. And I took for granted that he felt the same way, or I assumed that for the level of effort and time I took to make him happy and loved he would just naturally return the sentiment. And now he's gone, and I'm having to gradually let go of all my stupid dreams.
I thought I had my future ready made for me. Eventually we'd get married of course. There wouldn't be any babies, but there would be pets and homes and nieces to babysit and happiness at least most of the time. I would get my high-paying job and we could travel and live nicely and be in love. Foreverty-ever. Have you ever seen someone yank a tablecloth off a table but leave all the plates and silverware unmoved? That's what it felt like. My whole future that looked so rosy and perfect was just pulled out from under me and there a wineglass sort of wobbling on the table still, but everything else is just as it was in a sort of shock-stasis. I'm still on the old path, high-paying job that I don't care about hopefully coming eventually, but now I feel so hollow. Why bother? So I can travel alone? Buy a big beautiful house and fill it with dogs and cats? But when I really confront myself, there's nothing else I want to do. I'm doing this for lack of any other inspiration. Do I want to be a writer? No. Do I want to be a teacher? No. Do I want to be a human resource manager? No, but they'll pay me well enough that I'll have plenty of disposable income to do fun things. With no lover and friends that live hours away.
I don't even enjoy the things I used to. Video games are boring and I can't stay focused long enough to play because my attention span is so short. TV is boring. Movies are painfully predictable. I could go out, but with what money? Oh, wait, that's right, nobody wants to hire me. I've put out 40 or more applications in the last month and only had 3 callbacks. I got rejected for one job, the other one was some bullshit insurance company that I'm not going to sell door-to-door for, and the last one I have to wait to start working until the end of May. And Cameron will be gone by June. So I will have independence but it will feel more like being stranded. I hate this.
I never have nice things to say on this damn thing, do I? Sorry, guys.
Cameron was up and about today so I was excited, maybe we'd get to go do something and I'd get out of the fucking house for a few hours of fun. He didn't really want to go anywhere (getting out of bed and showering is just too much effort) so I called my dad. He and Justice were going to a little girl birthday party for one of her friends so I wanted to tag along. At least I'd go somewhere, maybe get some free dinner, and I haven't seen my dad in a long while. I call him, but no answer. I wait an hour or so after leaving a message and try him again, no answer. I gave up and just hung out at Barnes & Noble all afternoon, reading the Sandman comics and that's what really tripped off my sad spiral.
Sandman, if you haven't read it, is a gorgeous comic series that deals with concepts and themes that I adore. I've tried to deal with giant entities that are at once human and entirely alien at the same time in my own writing attempts a long time ago, but I don't really have the skill, so to see it done in a way that is so great, so masterful was thrilling on one hand, because I love this stuff, and really depressing because I can't do this stuff. And that's when I realized that I don't have any dreams.
All I want right now is to graduate from college, get a high-paying job, and then do whatever the hell I want. Which is a childish and unrealistic thought, I know, but that's what I wish. That's the closest thing to a dream I have right now. Finish college. Get job. Live in lap of luxury (relatively speaking). I used to want to be a writer, to be at least nominally famous for being artsy and intellectual and awesome. Then I gave up on that because I don't have a great writing talent and I'm unwilling to take classes for it. I cringe and want to die at the thought of someone reading my writing with a critical eye and telling me anything bad about it. It's like the writing is my baby and anyone saying something bad about it is a pesonal insult to my abilities as a genetic source.
So I moved on to French. In high school I was good at French, really good. But the biggest thing that made me good was my teacher. Mrs. Sestero taught in a way that was the most perfect fit for the way I learn ever, and I couldn't even explain why. So I thought I'd get a degree in French, maybe be an interpreter or a translator for books or something like that. But then I took it from a different teacher and it wasnt' easy anymore. I hated it. So I dropped that idea too.
Then came Cameron. Suddenly I didn't need any dreams, I just needed enough money to support myself so that I could stay with him forever. My life revolved around Cameron. Everyday it was, "What can I do for Cameron? How can I spend more time with him? Oo, he'd like that shirt/game/movie/whatever. Hm, let's have sex! No? ... Okay, maybe next time." I took all the crap he dished out because I was so deliriously happy being in love. And I was in love, every single day for those 3+ years. It was easy to keep things fresh, it took almost no conscious thought to stay in the butterflies-in-the-stomach, walking-on-air level of lovey-ness. And I took for granted that he felt the same way, or I assumed that for the level of effort and time I took to make him happy and loved he would just naturally return the sentiment. And now he's gone, and I'm having to gradually let go of all my stupid dreams.
I thought I had my future ready made for me. Eventually we'd get married of course. There wouldn't be any babies, but there would be pets and homes and nieces to babysit and happiness at least most of the time. I would get my high-paying job and we could travel and live nicely and be in love. Foreverty-ever. Have you ever seen someone yank a tablecloth off a table but leave all the plates and silverware unmoved? That's what it felt like. My whole future that looked so rosy and perfect was just pulled out from under me and there a wineglass sort of wobbling on the table still, but everything else is just as it was in a sort of shock-stasis. I'm still on the old path, high-paying job that I don't care about hopefully coming eventually, but now I feel so hollow. Why bother? So I can travel alone? Buy a big beautiful house and fill it with dogs and cats? But when I really confront myself, there's nothing else I want to do. I'm doing this for lack of any other inspiration. Do I want to be a writer? No. Do I want to be a teacher? No. Do I want to be a human resource manager? No, but they'll pay me well enough that I'll have plenty of disposable income to do fun things. With no lover and friends that live hours away.
I don't even enjoy the things I used to. Video games are boring and I can't stay focused long enough to play because my attention span is so short. TV is boring. Movies are painfully predictable. I could go out, but with what money? Oh, wait, that's right, nobody wants to hire me. I've put out 40 or more applications in the last month and only had 3 callbacks. I got rejected for one job, the other one was some bullshit insurance company that I'm not going to sell door-to-door for, and the last one I have to wait to start working until the end of May. And Cameron will be gone by June. So I will have independence but it will feel more like being stranded. I hate this.
I never have nice things to say on this damn thing, do I? Sorry, guys.