Mondays
Here’s a small look into how I think.
Imagine me, dressed in my work uniform, black hoodie, dishevled 10 AM hair, and a patchy, five o’clock shadow that took me a week to grow. I’m driving a van for work West on 16 Mile road, heading towards the construction that begins around Garfield Road.
“I want comics. I should see if Shannon will be up for getting comics. This construction sucks. I can’t imagine what traffic would look like if this was around Groesbeck. I bet that will be next years project. God, that’ll suck. Well, hopefully I won’t be here anymore. Jesus, what if I am? What if a year after graduating I’m still working grunt work? I wish I could have taken that internship. I wish my other internship hadn’t chewed me out for not taking it. I made the right decision right? I couldn’t pass up getting my degree. But now I feel like I am at square one. God, I don’t want this job anymore. Everyone BUT my loved ones said to go. What if I hated it? At least I’d be in a suit. Do I want to be a suit? Should I write? What kind of life am I leading? Poor Shannon… fallen in love with a schlub. What kind of life can I give to her? Construction sucks.”
This is the conversation that ended up ringing in my head for the rest of the day. It took a stack of comics and some pulse pounding baseball playoffs to boot it from my mind, but unfortunately, this is a common conversation I hold with myself.
This is the mind of someone desperately trying to avoid the life of his father. A life of wages barely over the minimum sliding from one uniform to another. This is the mind of someone so scared of the myth of genetic fate, he’ll lamppost himself for hours only to escape through diversion and entertainment. This is my mind, and its a pile of taffy: ticky sweet, but not moving anywhere.
