Venting....

I'm a bit perplexed at the present moment. I'm confused.
Let me bring you all up to speed.
I hate my job.
Easy enough, everyone hates there job, no big deal...everyone can relate. But I've begun to detest it more and more as the days go by. Due to the fact that my hours have been cut and now I work three to four days a week. Which isn't bad for this week because they're all 8 hour shifts. But I'm willing to bet that next week I'll only have a few hours, which makes things difficult.
I need this job to pay my bills and to have a social life, as well as keep myself entertained until I, ultimately croak and die. That's what we're all pretty much living for anyway, right?
People think that finding their dream job or starting a family is when the shot fades out and the credits roll. But speaking from experience of feeling like a has-been, you never really appreciate the great and wonderful things until they're gone. Over with. Or you don't realize they're the great parts until afterwards.
We only miss people when they're gone.
I miss having an audience, at least one that had it's numbers in the double digits. And I wish I could see things the way Liz does.
"I miss acting, Liz. I miss having an audience of people wanting to watch me entertain them."
"Then start acting again."
As if it's ever really that simple.
I aspire to write and publish a few novels, and then one day make a film or two. In the down time maybe make a CD with a band. But what about if I do those things and I'm done? Then what? Do I kill myself because my checklist is done?
Do I knock some girl up and get married, because that's what humans do?
Do I seek a new line of work?
Or do I try and out do myself, time after time after time, until I no longer appreciate my art for art's sake, but simply to push the boundaries of my own inner workings?
I have no idea.
I look back at my stories, they aren't really that amazing, or interesting. But then again, what really is? I've replayed my entire life's memory as I recall it now, and sure I love some times and hate others, but what really is amazing?
Were the times I spent in high school, acting and rocking out in a pop rock band dressed up as an ugly girl amazing?
Or were the times when the band grew to hate each other, or at least just me, amazing?
Were the times hanging out playing D&D amazing?
Or were the times when Nikki showed up and fucked us all over amazing?
Were the times in middle school, when we had a small group of us who all lived in our own little world amazing?
Or was it when we all grew up and eventually split up amazing?
Is growing up really that amazing?
Is it amazing that I'm slowly falling in love with an idea attached to a girl, or at least the girl inside of my head who's loosely based around a living, breathing person...Is that amazing? Honestly, I think it's pathetic.
Falling in love with an imaginary person.
But wait, we all imagine how people are in our heads, right? Or is that just me? That the experience in my head is always better, or much much more brutal in my head than it is in real life. Life inside my head has become a place I'd wish I could stay.
In my head I don't have managers trying to blind me with a false ambition.
No, I don't ever want to be a manager, and yes I know I'm manager material. This isn't my first job, nor is it the first time my boss has told me something like that. When I was at the movie theaters and Mike put up the position of new floor manager, do you think I went out for it?
Fuck, no.
There's no way in fucking hell would I want to tie myself down to a job I hate...A minimum wage job that I hate!
Using phrases like "You've got what it takes" and "All you've gotta do is try harder". No, you see, those phrases make me want to do the exact opposite. I just so happen to make the best of my surroundings. The uncarved block. I accept things as they happen and flow with the river, so to speak. I'll be damned if I let someone wave this feeling of disappointment over my head.
It's just a job.
Actions speak louder than words.
Probably the phrase I hold most dear to my heart. I was let down a lot as a child. My mother would always make these outrageous promises that, as I grew older, I started not to believe. But as a kid, when your mom says she's going to pick you up for the weekend you expect her to go through with it, because she loves you. I learned pretty early on, not to take what people have to say literally. It explains why threats have never really worked on me, other than throwing me into a smoldering rage. Why threaten to do something when you can just do it? It's pointless and a waste of time to threaten someone.
So I was caught in the act, I was breaking a rule. Don't threaten me, I know I broke a rule...If you've gotta write me up to keep face then do it, no harm done. I might be a little aggravated, of course, but I'll get over it. But sugarcoating something, that's just stupid. Just give it to me straight, Doc.
Call me into the office, write me up for being on my phone, tell me not to do it again, and I won't. Or at least try harder not to get caught.
I really think I like Liz way too much. I shouldn't care when she's mad at me. I don't care when anyone else is, why should I care when she is?
I have a better chance of fucking Carrios and marrying Omega in Ohio, having a big fat Greek wedding than ending up as more than friends with her.
"It's very to be called an egg--very!"
But alas, I feel the way I do due to circumstance, I suppose. I'm more than confident this will pass, either she'll became tired and bored of me or I'll do something to push her away, as I've so often done. It's a curse really.
But what if it doesn't? And she's determined to keep our friendship intact and consistent? What should I do then? Being proven wrong has never been a big issue for me, I often look forward to it. It helps me grow as a person, so I accept it.
If she were to do that, would I be more compelled towards her, or less compelled? There's really only one way to find out, I guess.
But as of late I feel the two of us are growing annoyed of one another, the way we used to be. It's probably because of my attitude at work.
I'm really starting to lose my mind. My face is melting. The seams are coming loose around the edges. I'm forgetting how to smile.
Or am I simply just not caring anymore?
Whatever the reason, it's affecting my life outside of my stories, in a negative way. I'm becoming more and more of an asshole as the weeks tick by. I really need some kind of personal interaction with another human being. I really need something to dote over. Besides, of course, my stories. They do help, they give me a reason to remain constant to myself. And they make my best friend happy, which in turn, makes me happy. It's a real shame the feeling is never mutual, you know?
That was something I brought up in "Nightmare Stare", the one you love is never, ever the one you love back. Even if you think it's true, it isn't. One is always more in love.
Take anything for example:
A movie.
A book.
Sex.
A sunset.
A view.
A song.
Something they said.
Something they didn't say.
It's because we're all individuals that we can never agree. And it's because we're Americans that we're individuals, all isolated et right next to each other.
The idea makes me sick.
I know I'll find people that love my stories more than she does, but will I care as much? Maybe, but probably not.
Will I find someone to fall madly in love with, that isn't her? Probably, but will I want to? Maybe...depending on how she rates on the scale.
I'm I really even worth anything, to anyone? Maybe my parents and a few friends, but ultimately, no. None of us are. So it's almost liberating, isn't it?
Since I'm not worth anything I have nothing to lose!
But then I'm brought back into modern day society where values are king. And I'm fucked, because Uncle Sam says I need a job. And I hate being smelly, just so we're all clear.
And as much as I'd like to end it all, and get out of all the pointless and mundane tasks that keep us all stressed out and following orders, I have too many movies to watch and books to read and stories to tell.
And I'm determined to have a book sold in major book stores, that's one thing I want to leave behind.
And I'm determined to make a film [whether it be write it, direct it, act in it, edit it, score it, etc] and have it shown to millions of people nationwide, that'd be awesome.
Really it'd just be a way of saying "Fuck you" to all those people who need it.
I wonder how many more "friends" I'd get after I made a movie, partly because no one can read anymore.
Ugh, I've rambled long enough...I need to shut up.
I hope you're happy, I've vented as much as I could about how and why I've been so pissed off as of late. It's almost embarrassing to be ashamed or afraid to open up to your best friend, don't you think? Either the timing is bad, or you know she just won't give a shit. It makes you feel like your emotions are meaningless, almost as if you shouldn't have any at all. You start to feel like some thing's wrong with you, but then you just realize it's because you feel isolated. The laughs you get from other friends only last so long, so you call them up and piece things back together.
Don't judge me for trying to keep myself level, I've wanted to spend quality time together, but it'll come soon enough.
Or maybe it's like Christina said, we should take a break. Or I should drop the bomb. But we both know how that would end up, badly.
I really cannot wait until fall semester starts at RCC, I need to get my mind off of work.
I need some sexual healing.
I need some sex. Period.
I need some water works.
I really need to scream until my voice is as harsh as sand paper.
I really wish I could confide in you, entirely. Or at least find the right time to do so.
I feel a lot better, this was a great idea.
No poem or story tonight. I'm really really tired, but I do feel better. I just hope I can stay feeling better, because getting fired would suck ass.
I love you.
G'night.

-Sir Jestro