some disconnect

Among young adults, there is the glamorous ideal of a profession contrasted with the stark reality of every day responsibility; a massive attempt for youth to reach their dreams, to find what they're truly meant to do with their lives, yet hindered at the captivity of metropolitan life: paying out fortunes in rent and escalating expenses with a dwindling salary, together with the expectation of being able to sustain as self-reliant adults. This is the education of balance.


During the week, I lack motivation for anything other than sitting on the couch. If a guy came up to me and said he would put away my laundry, play with my hair, and make me mini burgers, I think I would marry him. I’m way to young for that though. Instead, I get out of bed at an indecent hour in the morning to drive in the cold to my less-than-satisfying job. I sit in a cubicle with my daily cup of coffee and oatmeal, and I think back to the recurring nightmare I had as a child where an old man had kids in cages and chained to the wall in some underground cave and forced me (as one of his prisoners) to eat poisoned oatmeal. On some level I wonder if my daily consumption of oatmeal in my cubicle is a form of self loathing. I’m not meant for this lifestyle. I spill my coffee, I break the printers, I play travel agent and book international flights for people with British accents, I order software that I have no clue was purpose it serves, and I attempt to keep my sanity via internet entertainment throughout the day.




Hobbies get you through phases like this. I want to take trapese lessons, but I have to wait til it's warmer. If David ever fixes my guitar, I could teach myself a couple songs, and just play them over and over and over. I've decided to take a dance class. 6 classes, and each class is an introduction to a different type of dance. I'd like to take interpretive dance. Be.... a tree. Be... a candycorn. Be..... a kumquat. Perhaps kung fu or tai chi would be more helpful, to channel my energy better.