Bender

I don't know if spring is traditionally the time for bittersweet breakups and sudden and ill advised hookups, but this one has been for me. Celibacy, take me and do with me what you will.

My lungs hurt from smoking to keep my hands busy and my mouth shut. I have bills. Lots of bills. Bills that I can't pay. I've been looking for an office job for 3 months with no luck, and now I have to take a food/beverage job just to make my payments. I already have a job and an internship, and I've already done the three job thing. It makes me miserable. It make me want to crawl into a hole and forget that I ever loved anyone. I'm totally disinterested in reliving that type of life. After 6 years of school and $100,000 dollars, I can't find gainful employment. It is not for want of trying. I know that no one is going to pay me for my stories. They're not polished enough. I'm just asking to teach kids how to write poems or to copyedit dry business texts. Jeeez.

I've been drinking (which may be becoming synonymous with thinking) a lot lately about the early twenties (I've been thinking about the mid twenties, really. I am in my mid twenties. I am an actual adult with opinions and a home, but no sustainable job. No retirement fund. No property.). So, world of youth and older, I pose this question to you: what do I do? Write. Yes. I am doing that right now. No, Marshall. Write a book. Take all six of those stories and revise them. Then write six more. Right. This is what I say to myself before during and after the drinking. Well, where can I hide it? Cyberspace works. Now, instead of writing a story, here I am journaling about alcohol and jobs and debt and credit and a girl with nice tortoise shell looking glasses and long hair who wants to share intimate secrets may or may not be deep/ profound. But this is how I see that working out: poorly.