Don't count any of my advice
right now i am isolated, and lonely, and mopey, and a little bit buzzed, and in some ways everything I hate. But I can feel something big happening, a new place to stay, a new job, hopefully some new friends. And I'll be able to hop greyhounds, and drive my mom's car around everywhere, and I can pour my derision on a new place, new people. And then after what is in many ways the same old same old I will be back in school, I will be back to the things I enjoy, namely classes. I will have people who are happy to dance to the Mats and the Clash with me, who will debate the merits of Pink Flag versus 154 and will generally fit my pretty happy close-minded ideal of humanity.
Plus, I will learn, and maybe I can put myself in a place where a post-collegiate life looks like something more than this miserable pipe dream. Maybe I can find a job that doesn't involve pointing people to their favorite pickled products, maybe I can do something that at least masquerades as meaning. And even if I don't get that, at least I can decide to live some place where things actually happen, where bands actually play, where not everyone is just dreaming of a nice car and a plasma TV.
Several times this weekend I got complimented as being a hard worker. If I can apply myself that fully to being a shit-work cashier, imagine how I'd do when presented with real opportunities.
There is no direction to my thought, other than this pervasive hope and joy that descends upon even my most mundane of moments and scatters the boredom to corners of my brain filled with dust and all this other junk that one can accumulate in 17+ years. Give me some coffee, some tunes, and a good book and I can make up for not having any friends, at least until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open.
Plus, I will learn, and maybe I can put myself in a place where a post-collegiate life looks like something more than this miserable pipe dream. Maybe I can find a job that doesn't involve pointing people to their favorite pickled products, maybe I can do something that at least masquerades as meaning. And even if I don't get that, at least I can decide to live some place where things actually happen, where bands actually play, where not everyone is just dreaming of a nice car and a plasma TV.
Several times this weekend I got complimented as being a hard worker. If I can apply myself that fully to being a shit-work cashier, imagine how I'd do when presented with real opportunities.
There is no direction to my thought, other than this pervasive hope and joy that descends upon even my most mundane of moments and scatters the boredom to corners of my brain filled with dust and all this other junk that one can accumulate in 17+ years. Give me some coffee, some tunes, and a good book and I can make up for not having any friends, at least until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open.