My loan from Sallie Mae grew $80,000 in interest during the years I spent underemployed after college.
My rent was $300.
My credit card was $150
My car was $200
They wanted me to pay $1,200 a month.
I was taking home $1,000 from the two jobs I worked in food service.
I will NEVER get the past seven years back where I lost myself to doubt and worry.
I am the 99%.
I’ve never felt as lonely as I did last night, making dinner with no one around to push up my sleeves for me.
I need a moment. Rarely do I ever take the time to stop and jot down my feelings. By nature I am not the type of person to ask a lot of questions about my existence (what does it all mean?) My head is not wracked with thoughts and analysis of my days. I don’t lay awake at night, unable to sleep because my brain has worked itself into a fit of “what ifs” and “whys.”
Lately though, I find myself asking one big WHY. Why is it that when one thing in my life starts to go right, when things start looking up, something else immediately falls to shit.
I have the normal complaints, I don’t make enough money, I’m in debt, I’ve gotten fat. I know I need to man up and accept it/ do something about it, but for some reason I am so fucking lazy that I do nothing and hate myself for it. I feel like I used to be so much more ambitious and energetic. Maybe this is just a part of growing up but as my favorite punk band always preached “I don’t want to grow up!”
I’m not ready to give up on myself yet, there’s got to be more to it. I put so much focus for so many years on finding a job. Well, now I have one. Go me. It’s alright, yes I have a decent job but what’s next. Should I be looking for a husband? I’m in no place to find someone to settle down and start making babies with, I don’t even know if that is the road I want to take. But what else could I do? Travel? I can’t afford it. Go back to school? I can’t afford it.
What do I do. I work. I sleep. I drink. I play frisbee golf on the weekends in between bars. I watch bad crime dramas while eating leftovers on my couch in my underwear. Doesn’t that just sound like giving up?
Yesterday at a pseudo job interview I went to, I was asked, along with 20 some odd other people, to share a fun fact about me. Hm. Good fucking question. The middle aged guy in the back stands up, and oh boy does he love sports. Soccer, tennis, football, you name it, he loves it. So thats what make him unique? That’s what drives him to get up in the morning. I totally cheated and recited some random quirky story about the molasses flood of 1919. I know. Molasses. Look at me, I’m a wealth of interesting knowledge of things that have absolutely nothing to do with me, outside of having some great great great someone that drowned in a wave of sticky goo. The whole time I’m thinking they will never hire a girl with a fat face like mine. There’s got to be more to it than this.
I have an ex-boyfriend who was interested enough in me, all of me, to want to know my voice. He always wanted me to write and really communicate the innermost workings of my head. To this day I regret having never done that.
I always hoped it would get better. I hoped I would find my way.. Now I hope maybe through talking about it, writing about it, sharing my thoughts, however jumpy and poorly put they might be, I can actually become the person I always wanted to be.
