How to sell out.
Well, very few times in my life have I had any kind of epiphany. It feels pretty good. It also feels partially insane that finally narrowing down what I would want to focus on a career is partially the reason I quit school in the first place.
When looking at what career options I would likely have after getting the Sociology degree, it seemed to lead to corporate banality. Possibly to using my education in a round about way in a human resources department someway, pushing pencils and teaching motherfuckers how to not stare at the tits of their coworkers.
I was anti-corporate then. I guess we all grow up. I might not be P.J. O'Rourke, but I'm starting to seriously understand the process in which one moves from Socialist to Libertarian they way one understands a woman. Stripped naked and from the inside.
I can never blame my fellows for never giving up on the non-corporate dream. What is, at best, the impersonal nature and sometimes seemingly arbitrary or absurd structure of American corporatism can be imposing. For those who are convinced it will be soul crushing, I'm sure it will be. I used to think of it as mediocrity, but I have a very hard time believing that I can ever be anything close to mediocre.
I will always define myself by who I am and what I do outside of my career, or at least I hope to. That is certainly not what I am now. Being a bartender in a college town, approaching Thirty-One, has consumed me almost totally. An aging rock star to spoiled children and future cirrhosis victims. What was cool at Twenty-Five is passe at Thirty. Sad at Thirty-Five and pathetic past Forty.
I understand nothing is truly ever stable, but at the end of this rainbow is stability. Is structure. I long for a work environment that has consistency. Consistent rules. Even if they are bad rules. I've been working where the rules can change between minutes and according to the random whims of a few. Yes, this happens whenever one has a boss, but at least there is an undercurrent of what I seek. That will have to be good enough, it's certainly better. And benefits, lets not forget that. I would happily trade the ones I get now for something real. Twenty-Two year old pussy does, in fact, get boring. Insurance hardly seems boring at all any more.
I'm right on track with the plans I started making in my head half a decade ago. I wish the epiphany would have come sooner. I'm narrowing down the type of company that I would like to work for, close to getting right with the government to be able to finish school out as I do it, and ready to buy the clothes I need to acquire to cover up the ink for the American workplace.
I've always looked good in a tie.
When looking at what career options I would likely have after getting the Sociology degree, it seemed to lead to corporate banality. Possibly to using my education in a round about way in a human resources department someway, pushing pencils and teaching motherfuckers how to not stare at the tits of their coworkers.
I was anti-corporate then. I guess we all grow up. I might not be P.J. O'Rourke, but I'm starting to seriously understand the process in which one moves from Socialist to Libertarian they way one understands a woman. Stripped naked and from the inside.
I can never blame my fellows for never giving up on the non-corporate dream. What is, at best, the impersonal nature and sometimes seemingly arbitrary or absurd structure of American corporatism can be imposing. For those who are convinced it will be soul crushing, I'm sure it will be. I used to think of it as mediocrity, but I have a very hard time believing that I can ever be anything close to mediocre.
I will always define myself by who I am and what I do outside of my career, or at least I hope to. That is certainly not what I am now. Being a bartender in a college town, approaching Thirty-One, has consumed me almost totally. An aging rock star to spoiled children and future cirrhosis victims. What was cool at Twenty-Five is passe at Thirty. Sad at Thirty-Five and pathetic past Forty.
I understand nothing is truly ever stable, but at the end of this rainbow is stability. Is structure. I long for a work environment that has consistency. Consistent rules. Even if they are bad rules. I've been working where the rules can change between minutes and according to the random whims of a few. Yes, this happens whenever one has a boss, but at least there is an undercurrent of what I seek. That will have to be good enough, it's certainly better. And benefits, lets not forget that. I would happily trade the ones I get now for something real. Twenty-Two year old pussy does, in fact, get boring. Insurance hardly seems boring at all any more.
I'm right on track with the plans I started making in my head half a decade ago. I wish the epiphany would have come sooner. I'm narrowing down the type of company that I would like to work for, close to getting right with the government to be able to finish school out as I do it, and ready to buy the clothes I need to acquire to cover up the ink for the American workplace.
I've always looked good in a tie.