they say life is a series of tests. it’s more like a series of swift kicks to the groin, followed by punches to the face before you’re set on fire. i turned 30 this november passed. i had quit drinking for 8 months. i quit smoking. i dissected every bad, drunken decision made in the past year and beyond. i felt great. i met the girl of my dreams. i even found a way to enjoy alcohol again without abusing it. life still, however, found a way to give me a good ol’ ‘fuck you’. it was in the wallet. you know what? i see your ‘fuck you’ and i raise you an ‘eat a dick’. i’m not going to let this beat me! no. way.
well, today i come into work. our district manager is here. she’s a nice person. there’s no reason for me to dislike her, however, my whole being becomes tense. my brain begins to create reasons why she has decided to set up shop at our office this very day. this exercise in anxiety and anguish led to a realization, i don’t think i like my job anymore.
i’m a sign language interpreter. it’s not a boring job. it’s actually really rad. i love my co-workers (most of them), i love the deaf community, i love the language, but i’m not sure this is IT for me. THAT epiphany raw fucked my mind grapes. here’s how that went:
I’M THIRTY YEARS OLD. I DON’T EVEN HAVE A DEGREE. I WANT TO WRITE! WHO DOESN’T? YOU ARE NOT A GOOD ENOUGH WRITER. YEAH, I’M REALLY NOT. HOW DO I KNOW? I HAVEN’T GIVEN IT A SHOT! WHAT IF YOU’RE FIRED?! YOU MAKE GOOD MONEY NOW, YOU SHOULD JUST STAY IN THIS FIELD!! YOU’LL MAKE GOOD MONEY!! YOU DON’T DO SHIT FOR MONEY, DANIEL! YOU’RE SUCH A FUCK UP.
yes, that’s my crazy. my amazing girlfriend tells me that i need to decide which path i want to take as a writer and throw my entire being into it. she’s right, but i have to find my path and make my choice. i feel like a mess. she says i’m in transition. i like how she sees me. it’s better than how i see myself.
