2006-08-07
Fraudulent Activities
I am a fraud. I want to curl into a tiny ball and cry and cry until my eyes hurt. I want to cry like that time I cried last time I was in Florida -- big wracking sobs that came so hard and so quickly that they convulsed my body and at one point I scared myself with the depth of them. I could not stop them -- they were completely involutary after a point. I was crying so loudly that I woke my father up -- he sleeps downstairs -- and when he came upstairs to check on me I said "No . . . I'm ok."
What is with the kneejerk untruths? YOU'RE NOT FUCKING OK IF YOU'RE SOBBING SO LOUDLY THAT YOU WOKE SOMEONE UP. You're not ok if the next day you can't open your eyes because they're so swollen. You're not ok, you're not ok, you're not ok.
The other night when I was out with Beth and her friends, one of the friends asked me what I did, and then asked me if I liked my job. Through my vodka-induced haze (thank you Sugar bartenders for making really strong drinks to make up for the lameness of your club) I told her that most days, I wake up and hate my life because I have to go to work. And do you know what she does? She's an English and Gender Studies professor at a Community College. You're not ok.
I sat in the parking lot at Office Depot today. It was after work and I needed some bubble wrap and I watched a seagull rip at a discarded scone. I felt so empty that I could not cry. You're not ok.
Why is it so hard to admit that I fucking hate my job? I fucking hate business and numbers and "business attire" and calculators and rate sheets and salespeople and that little perma-fixed business card thing at the bottom of every email. I should change mine to "Fuck you very much for your business."
At the same time, there's a difference between saying it and accepting it -- I can say it, but I haven't truly accepted it. And it isn't usually until I accept something that I can start to change it. This whole experience is part of my journey -- I'm doing this to make money so I can save for grad school, so that someday I'll be in a club asking someone what they do, and I'll be able to say that I'm an English Community College professor . . . I just hope that they tell me the truth about their life too.
vade--mecum at 8:38 p.m.