i give myself permission for discontent.

by dorarandom


i don’t have much to do at my new job. shouldn’t i feel lucky? i’m not sure. opinions differ as to the desirability of having nothing to do at work. personally, i rather hate it. i sit in this room in an office building and listen to the low hum of the HVAC and listen to my cells deteriorating. i do like the quiet. and the air conditioning. some days i drink a ton of coffee—get just completely out of my mind twitchy with caffeine—and play candy crush saga with a fierce terrifying intensity.

i am currently on level 254 or something like that.

some days i feel like i need to be taking advantage of all this compensated free time to write a great novel or make some other kind of great art or do some earth-shattering research or hatch entrepreneurial schemes or, you know, etc. i get frantic feeling like i am wasting my life in non-epic pursuits. i get feeling old and washed-up. (VDF assures me that these feelings, while completely ridiculous, are completely normal, and to be expected, at 29.)

i should be looking for a new apartment, since i gave notice that i’d be leaving the one i’m in on august 1. i sort of try, but i hate the process. i have yet to succeed in liking baltimore. i liked chicago. and—well, i think it’s okay not to like baltimore. it’s small and gross and the traffic is terrible. it’s appallingly intensely racially segregated. it’s famous for/takes pride in being the city of [white] bad taste and [black] ultra-violent desperate crime. and i’m a dreamy refugee from academia. homesick for the peaceful vacant lots of southside chicago. the ancient cottonwoods and bur-oaks of the peacefully dreamily neglected city parks. all that midwestern livability!

it would probably be a cause for concern if i was enthusiastic about baltimore and being in office buildings.

also, p.s., i hate summer. it’s stupid to begin with and, in this climate-changed world we’re living in, it never ends here. it drags on wilting through october. and my genes weren’t meant for that. i was designed for weathering harsh winters. sweating is bullshit. and the sun!—well, the sun is total bullshit.