An ode to the misplaced.
It’s 10am. I’ve just sat up to see the same old clump of mess that I haven’t even contemplated cleaning up. I’m not a worried man or a sad man, just a young man. An indifferent man relying on 6 years of further education to find my position in the world, a position that in all likelihood does not belong to me anyway. This does not strike fear into my soul. Yes, the fear exists but I ignore it and carry on with the monotony of my daily life. I need another hobby, part of my brain says. The other part just tells me to sit on the couch and relax, everything is not lost my friend!
I pick up my laptop, log into Facebook; another day, another couple of notifications. Has my life really come to this? From the exuberant young kid who always had a smile on his face to this, a man who has lost that zest for exploring the new. Hormones ruin a young man. I need a girlfriend. But commitment? I don’t want a clingy girl but I don’t want a distant woman. I don’t need a girlfriend. I’ve forgotten how to write a proper sentence, are paragraphs still relevant? Writing a structured essay is pointless, no one reads them, no one cares what you write because it’s not your own knowledge, it’s recycled. So I just stammer through life waiting for that chance. But will the chance ever come?
Stop your whinging! Stop your whining! Get on with it! I hear the whispers of past generations constantly offering their own advice to a hapless young man.
Give me a break, I’m trying my best!
Seriously, what are you doing about it?
As I trawl through my thoughts I reach the conclusion that I am not doing anything but I am doing everything. To avoid being completely illogical I will summate that as an overactive mind. I could head into the city and find another job that I do not desire. I could join a theatre group! But then I’ll have to make an effort with people I probably won’t like. This is disgusting, how can one become so cynical in just three years.
No. I will not become a bitter man who exists purely to remind those around him what he could have been. Seize the day you fucking cunt. Sorry that was unnecessary swearing. Carpe Diem cunnus. I just looked up the ‘c’ word on a popular website and apparently it is derived from the Latin word ‘cunnus’ meaning vagina. Funny how a little research can destroy the image of the dirtiest word in the English language. Anyway, back on the point of this rant…. well, the awkward part is there really is no point. Maybe there isn’t a point to my entire life? No, The Sims taught me that isn’t true. It also taught me that you can play scissors, paper, rock with Death and win the life of your best friend back. Definitely a better teacher than my year 12 English teacher.
I wait. And maybe waiting is not the best for this situation but it beats doing anything serious. I mean, look at that subsection of society who involve themselves specifically in crimes such as rape and murder. All they seem to do is rape and murder and they love it. Well, that’s according to parts of the media. Headlines of the grandiosity of ‘Rapist gets 20’ and ‘Wife killer found guilty’ are all we need to know about these people. Just perfectly depicts why vox pops on the street asking whether we are too lenient on criminals are a right waste of time. We get it Sue, 52, from Frankston, you think that anyone who is found guilty of a serious crime should be given life or even worse, sent to hell for all eternity. To be honest, I don’t really think that it is your decision but you never know, she could be the second coming of God; Old Testament version of course.
There’s a whole world out there. And there are part time jobs that I require to get me to that other world. Part time jobs working for big corporations, part time jobs working for franchises, part time jobs that supplement other part time jobs. Can I get a ‘hell yeah’ for 18 dollars an hour! ? Alright, things could be a lot worse. And I’m not talking absolute poverty, not knowing where your next meal is going to come from. That’s not a lot worse. That’s a LOT WORSE. A lot worse (minus the capitalisation) would be receiving 5 dollars a day to work in a factory whilst you have three hungry kids sitting at home. Apparently that is the way things go in second and third world countries, I wouldn’t know, I don’t work there. Maybe I should just be happy that I can contribute my smile and statements of rehearsed salutations to society. People like my smile because it’s simple and effortless. The type of person they think will never offend or judge. The type of person who wouldn’t approach a Christian or a Jew or a Mormon and tell them that I think their outlook on life is completely ridiculous. No, I would never do that.
I’m not the only one who is scared, we’re all scared, but how do we deal with it? Maybe by looking outside, at the trees, the smell of the soil, the children who run around and play. Or maybe I should just continue worrying about the direction my life is going in and where I can buy a cheap pint and have a punt on the dogs. If I take the latter option I give up, if I take the former option I look like a paedophile. Maybe if I stop calling children ‘kiddies’ I’ll come across less creepy. I’ve got to stop doing that particularly before fatherhood.
According to daytime TV, the imaginary friend of extremely lonely people, the secret is to rid yourself of acne and you will be more inclined to see the positive side of democracy and freedom. I don’t have acne but I kind of see the appeal there. My country SHOULD be acne free with smiles and Justin Bieber telling me what to do. I’m still extremely lonely though.
I should probably keep my thoughts to myself. And I should probably call my friend I was supposed to meet five minutes ago and tell him I’ll be fifteen minutes late, minus travel time.
Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to have friends.