Forward: This is a passage describing regrets that surfaced from not trying hard enough when the opportunity presented itself
As I peel open my eyelids, trying frantically to silence, without damaging, my noisy android friend, that all too familiar feeling of anxiety and sadness fills my hazy early morning thoughts. Is it Saturday? Please god let it be Saturday, I really don’t want to spend another day sitting in a grotty, modular sweat box surrounded by miserable and bitter old gits who insist on calling me ‘young man’ (but apparently it’s offensive if I call them ‘old’, where’s the logic in that?). I simply can’t summon the massive quantity of sarcasm needed to survive yet another day surrounded by people who, to be honest, probably hate their jobs just as much as I do. The highlight of my working day is leaving the door at 5.00pm when I can depart as fast as my skinny legs will carry me without making it blatantly obvious to those around me that I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about my current employment, if only my multitude of debtors would accept promises and dreams as payment….
It’s not as if I can point my bitter, RSI infected finger at anyone in particular and call them a ‘dream-breaker’ (I can’t actually ever think of an occasion when I have used that particular insult but hey..), and maybe sue them for allowing me to wander aimlessly down this dead end that I call employment entrusting my future to the comment thrown around by the elderly; ‘it’ll all work out in the end’. Well guess what?? It doesn’t, I’ve tried that for a few years now and I’m officially screwed. A more apt phase involves me lying uncomfortably in a bed that I made myself.
Sometimes I wish I had actually taken myself seriously, instead of daydreaming and teasing myself with seemingly viable options of skipping my next lecture to keep my sofa company. Honestly, I could hear it gently calling my name to try and lure me back onto its forgiving softness with promises of beer and pizza. It was at this point that somewhere inside my unconscious thoughts, a hidden war between my future happiness and the next pint was fought and lost without me even realizing it. I think the buzz word for this reaction to the new found freedom that teenage study allows is culture shock. I can only compare the change to being released from a Category A prison straight into the playboy manor with pocket full of $100 bills, some people (me included) just went mad and plain forgot the what the mission was. And that was my problem, a complete lack of application…
But I’m not so blind that I can’t see which path I should now choose, but at the same time that path is blocked by another quick fix (more beer) that will allow me to remain outwardly sane for another couple of days. I have to keep this as a little secret that only me and my inner voices can talk about, a dirty little shameful fact that I just couldn’t bring myself to share with an actual living person for fear of forced therapeutic help. To the outside world I’m just getting on with it best I can, making do and smiling through it, inside I’m screaming for stimulation.
Don’t get me wrong though, I had an f**king fantastic time tossing it off for all those years … but now I’m not, now I’m unhappy and bitter with the shitty hand dealt to me by life, now I hate myself for messing up my so called future cos of what seemed so important at that time in my life. I guess I’m trying to be wise and get the point home, don’t fuck it all up or you’ll end up like me.
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