i wasn’t intentionally rebelling. it was more like accidentally living. i think what i decided against was whatever it was that didn’t quite make sense to me. i couldn’t quite grasp the concept of spending nine hours of my day making the dreams of others come true so i could make my dreams come true later.
the money i promised to pay back won’t get paid back because the jobs they promised didn’t come thru. i wrote them a letter telling them to repossess the degrees or leave me the fxck alone.
i’m just doing what makes sense to me. if i give my dreams, aspirations, fantasies, lovers, muses, happiness as much of me as most people i know give their employers, i will be happier whenever i fall asleep (as infrequent as that’s becoming). some of those people are happy though. i make no sense to those people. they have bills because they have new cars and houses, and can’t understand why i don’t want those. they want to do what i do, but they have bills, and new bills keep coming.
when they’re 65 and dying, they’ll be glad to spent a third of their life working, and that doesn’t include the time they spent getting ready for work, and in traffic on the way to and from work.
i just haven’t figured out a way to make sense of it all, i guess. and here i am, staying in a $549.00 per night room in manhattan, looking at the hudson hoping i don’t see a body float by, trying to figure out why i can’t find a city i love enough to stay in longer than three months. why do i want to see the world, and eat the world, and conceptualize more than i already do. maybe there are people living in those deserts between LA and NYC.
just writing hoping something reveals itself. ah well. back to this script. on deadline.