I have daily been begging even the bosses of corporate America to give me a blue vest, a kitschy visor, an apron and gloves and the thumbs-up to operate a meat slicer. Every pleading episode has been ignored and denied, I've been banished from the premises (not really), hung to dry (almost really), and the list of possible jobs is rapidly fraying. My bank account is pissed. Sometimes, I am, too.
Still. Even though I've got about sixteen dollars, all of which will be put towards the gas to get me to yet another failed job interview for a position I never wanted in the first place, I've found the last month or two somewhat celebratory. Because before this, I can't remember not having a job. I'm twenty-two (yikes, you), and I've been working for someone or some place since I was fourteen years old. Calculate that. Despite my recent college graduation, simple math still escapes me. By that, I mean I refuse it.
So having less than a dollar for every year I've existed, future expenses pounding at my step, demanding collection, insisting I have insurance, a good dental plan, a place to settle down, a car to get me around the world, a good sedative to keep me IN it (more on that later). Everyone's interest in telling me what I will require to survive all ends up in the same place: money, and how I don't have it.
Now, unless we're going to blame the organization of all societies, past and future, I can't really point my finger (one in particular) at the inventor of money, or bartering, or property, or possessions. Somebody somewhere had to eventually have more land or a bigger house or a larger herd and all that began to mean, "Hey, I'm better off than you, because I have more to show for it."
Okay. Yes, okay. A Lambourghini almost ran me over yesterday, and my means of transportation is now (and actually, has always been) to borrow a car from my parents. That is, if no one else is using it/needs it more than me. I moved back into my old high school bedroom after college. (Alright, so only a few months ago, but how the minutes have been years). Not to Los Angeles, Prague, or Rio. (The order is particularly important). My attempt at style does not now, nor has it ever, included Versace, Armani, and the like. I'm okay with a simple life. A life fully dependent on someone else, well. Maybe not. But simplicity. Yes, simplicity could be alright.
So I think what all of this means is that, sure, I'm going to run into a point (oh so soon) where I'm going to start saying things like "I need a job." Or "I need the money." And maybe I will, or do, for some things. And I suppose that in a very ideal world none of us would really ever need anything. But I think that claiming that certain things are necessary means that we are claiming to have the patience to wait for them. Maybe I want (excuse me, need?), maybe somewhere the back of my mind I've decided I want that life, with the home and the car and the satisfying work environment.
Today I'll just start with the job.
And maybe tomorrow I'll start saving.
And the next day? Everything else.
In the meantime, there's now.
