i sit here, half-cut from the vodka wondering at what exactly is i’m supposed to be doing with my life aside from breathing.
As an admission this is not a cry for attention, nor is it a social opinion, a glorious sweeping statement of the current state of play. No this is rather a small, timid question from the front of class asking the question we all ask at some point of our lives. The question being “Well, what happens next?”
I’ve asked this question a lot. I began asking it back when I was in high-school. Confused, hormonal, acne-ridden, not seeing what was going on around me as anything other than a run-up, a jump off point, to something else. First high-school, then to college, then to work with the hope that something tickles the fancy during that three year degree and radiates enough interest for me to pursue it with my own feeling of self-determination.
I didn’t really feel what I was hoping for. What I really longed for during those four years. No. Instead I felt everything else, the idea of enjoying myself, alcohol and sex. All this was indulged but nothing was stopping the burning questioning I found within me.
“What now? What next? Why this? Why that? Why..”
Go with the flow boychik…
I did. I flowed right out of one institute of learning and into another. This one was more ordered. Forty-five weeks of torture per year, late evenings, long days, nights and everything in between. People died and infants birthed and everything else. Terrorist attacks and cheeky fags on fire escapes. Sucking coffee through long straws asking for 4 shots of espresso after a 14 hour shift. The bustle and the burn. And the dark sleep of the exhausted.
But that was then, that was long ago. And what now is to fill this void. To avoid this treadmill i seemed to have found myself on, walking forever in a job I don’t hate but find myself leaning more and more towards indifference? To nuture my dreams in such an environment harkens to the 1890’s and the backstreets of the great cities, all sewage and overcrowding, disease and neglect. To raise a dream there would be possible, but the odds of success hardly even money.
But the job has income, which is needed to provide for the things already enjoyed. Acquired on credit, installments, good faith. Trust in the man with the pen behind the desk. It’s only 4 years interest free credit. Not that long…
Now it’s bricks and mortar, and i’m in bed with the banks, and the builders, a grotesque threesome that leaves no doubt on who is whose bitch. I can feel the time lopping of my countdown to pay what’s owed. Not a small sum. But now so high i can’t imagine what the top looks like.
All these feelings live in me. You ignore them because you have to. how do you live with them? Ignorance, forgetfullness, anger, pity, self-loathing and derision. All are options, but I wouldn’t bet on a positive outcome.