“Yeah, I’m done,” he said as he closed his laptop. “I’m tired of it all. Checking Facebook. Checking Twitter. Pinning my interests. Blogging my thoughts. Hell, I can’t even come to delete my Myspace page.”
Holding on to the past was always smart. Now, it’s a pain in the ass. He used to read old writings. Remember how it felt. Sometimes become happy in the realization that it wasn’t as bad anymore. Now, there just doesn’t seem to be any time for it. Too much going on to spend time there.
Some would say “that’s awesome.” But not him. He misses the time spent crafting something. Thinking about something deeper than the newly reunited David Lee Roth Van Halen and whether or not tweeting 140 character or less reviews of each song on a shitty album is genuinely productive or not.
The temptation of turning it all off is always there. Just like the temptation to not do anything at all. Lately, the not do anything at all has won. And it sickens him. “So get off your ass and do something,” they say from the rafters, all the while not fucking doing anything themselves except consuming and expecting others to do things for them.
Yesterday, for instance, the fourth person in the last two weeks told him to “lie about it” when applying for jobs. Hiring agencies and bosses “don’t want to hear you’re a quick learner and can figure it out.” No, they want to hear “I have experience doing that and can do it well.”
“Fuck being honest, I guess,” he thinks. “It won’t get your anywhere anymore. At least as long as they don’t check up on it.”
So, he continues to toil at a shitty job. He’s good at it. But working two or three hours a day out of the eight spent in the office – added to the hour drive back and forth to the workplace – and it all seems so pointless. So pathetic. Watching a field die that he went all in on is saddening. But he also knows that wallowing in it and feeling sorry for himself ain’t gonna get him a job somewhere else. So, just like three years ago, he keeps sending resumes out. A rarity is a response, but it’s not unexpected.
He doesn’t drink much anymore. When he does, two or three beers is enough. “Is this getting old?” he wonders at night as Netflix brings him a six-year old episode of “Law & Order.” But how many times can one search for a leak of an album by your favorite band. Same websites over and over. All pointing to other websites in a fruitless attempt to take over his computer with spam and adware and such.
Next thing you know, the acid reflux from the night before will comeback. He thinks it only came about because the hamburger he cooked with was a little “gamey”, but he can’t be sure. Getting old and all. The leftover part of that meal is still in the fridge. It’ll sit there for weeks before he finally throws it out. It’s more about not wanting to wash the dish than anything else. Some would call it laziness, but he doesn’t, he calls it apathy.
Speaking of, a conversation occurred the other day and he didn’t hear a single word. But said “Yep,” at the end. Wondering if he just sold his dog or agreed to a lunch date with the fat girl at work? Guess, he’ll find out soon enough.
His car just passed 55,000 miles, in about 20 months. Kind of scary to think he’s been in the car that long. Lately, there have been lots of dreams (well, three remembered ones, which for him is an epic amount) about car wrecks. It makes him pause and drive a little safer. Especially after getting a second ticket in less than a year. This one for “following too close” even though it was caused by a truck pulling out into fast traffic, but the officer wanted none of that, even though he said “yeah, I saw that happen. You should have slowed down.”
He’s right, but he doesn’t want to listen to that shit. Cops are shitbags. Just like shitbags are full of shit and bags of dicks still make him smile.
That’s a line that will one day lead to strange amounts of Asian porn spam. For sure.
He just wants this to end. And finally it is going to.
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