There are those who say, "If I wanted to read high school expository essays, I'd be an English teacher" and there are those who ask, "Could you stop trying to be funny for one minute and share with us some true, private feelings?"
For the record, I believe my expository essay style of writing is more a result of my being un-creative, rather than the fact that my education stopped at high school, but I'll see what I can do about it. Also, despite my repeated attempts to convince people otherwise, I do in fact have a heart...that feels. Often times, when getting in touch with my true feelings, I cry loudly and uncontrollably, which makes it kind of difficult to finish a post involving said feelings. But again, I will try.
So here it is, an effort to address BOTH criticisms in ONE, free-verse, and heart-felt, post. (My keyboard is wet with tears right now...)
I have become so apathetic at work, it's not even funny. What IS funny, is that they still pay me. A lot. I work maybe twelve hours, spread over three days, a week. They pay me more money than any man could spend, but I am just a boy - a stupendously spendthrift boy.
I meet a girl and am quickly captivated. She's as Jewish as the Star of David, but woos this Gentile with her mastery of the French language, season tickets at Pac Bell Park, and her downright adorable-ness. Her name is Naomi, but she lets me call her "Hey-blow-me". I don't love her, but I want to.
My life is good. Too good. I feel like a length of toilet paper, one end stuck to the piss-covered seat, the other end touching the water.
Nowhere to go but down.
Naomi dismisses me with a, "You're not Jewish." No truer words have ever been spoken - until the next morning when my boss of six weeks dismisses me with a, "You're not a good employee." He punctuates this statement with a, "Take off. I mean, take care."
For the first time in my life, I'm not expected anywhere, anytime, by anyone. I go for a hike along the cliffs above Baker Beach. The immense Pacific Ocean stretches endlessly to my left. The Golden Gate Bridge stands majestically to my right.
My life is worry-free. Yet worry-full. I feel like the antithesis of the ocean and the bridge.
Small and unaccomplished.
After being laid-off, and blinded by the thought of six months unemployment benefits, I vowed to do nothing for as long as possible. Not surprising to anyone but me, "as long as possible" turned out to be... Six months.
I need a job, but I don't want one. I want a girlfriend, but I don't need one. Since being fired, I've never even gone near my old place of work, but I occasionally drive by my little Jewish princess' fine Victorian and cry out, "NAOMI!" When other people are in my car they think I'm doing it to be funny. I'm not.
My life is at a critical hour. I feel like a clock in Michael Jackson's house.
The big hand has touched the little hand and bad things are about to happen.
My wallet has lost a lot of weight and so have I. I can barely afford to feed myself and my bills are quickly stacking up. The 11th hour has long ago passed, but I don't want to get a job. I want to win the lottery. And I will. I know I will.
Sonia, a girl I kinda-sorta-started seeing, has kinda-sorta-stopped seeing me. I begged her to reconsider, asking "Sonia, are you sure you want to be all alon-ia?" If she was unsure before I opened my mouth, all doubts suddenly left her - leaving me with a heart as empty as my wallet and as cold as the wintry weather.
My life is at the bottom. But the bottom could drop out. Which is why I still feel like that piece of toilet paper, dangling into the porcelain abyss.
Nowhere to go but down.