Lately I have been enjoying utilizing the "Status" feature on MySpace. My status may or may not change a couple of times a day, depending on how busy I am or how "ninja" I feel. Tonight I am feeling particularly disappointed in myself and where my lot has taken me, so I made it known on MySpace. Talking with a friend today made me wonder if my problem of not knowing what I want to be when I grow up is just an issue of an unlucky few, or a generational flaw. I am grown up, but I have no real idea what the heck I want to do for the rest of my life, however long or short it may be. Or maybe I just don't have a plan.
Don't want: To work in an office ever again. To have people demean my intelligence on a daily basis. To be treated as lesser when I am better. To end up as the saddest person I know, whom I also happen to live with. To grieve anymore.
The pathetic part is my wants are so not focused. I want to write what I want to write, and get paid for it because I know I will never be fully satisfied in my life working to live as opposed to living to work. I like to listen to music, read about it, write about it, and maybe talk about it with people who aren't retarded. I want to write about my life (I put the ordinary in extraordinary, so we'll see where that goes). I need help with those things. I want love, fresh air, mountains, and to hang out with my friends and my dog. Ah, the things I like seem few and far between at times. I bitch about the same shit over and over again, but for some reason it doesn't do any good... Imagine that.
I've been composing a manifesto of sorts over the past day (since I had my keyboard replaced by one of the nerds from the movie Nerds) and have some great and thoroughly inappropriate one-liners I want to share with the world that made me wonder how - should I ever find an opportunity to publish some of the terribleness that is my private life - how could I openly be held accountable for what I write? Scathing rips on my family life, relationships and sex, the occasional illegal activity (ah, yes... use your imagination because that's probably more fun than my reality), death, friends, work, and so on and so forth. I'd become a pariah of all trades. Maybe it really is time to start posting on my other anonymous blog...
Gawd help us all if I should die before I can destroy all of my journals and the Dell's hard drive and an assortment of college notebooks I used for random thoughts after they'd served their scholarly purpose.