uncommoncold

Yesterday, as a friend of mine was driving me home, we started talking about work, family, and the nagging theme of obligation. He is thirty-four, has owned several houses in his lifetime, is married, and just recently had a son. I was trying to imagine this sort of life- a life where I am not only making decisions that directly concern myself, but another being as well. Where someone else's very survival depends on my choices.

I mean, sure, I can factor other people into my equations in the short term, but as far as long term plans go.. who will stick around? I make no plans based on anyone else. When it comes down to it, I am an island. I wonder how much having a child would change me- how much it would strip away any and all of my various selfish qualities.

Point: I'm not living for anyone else right now, and that I'm curious to see what it would be like. (But not curious enough to, say, have a baby.)

On work:

M.: "Alison, it took me eight years to realize that the 'career' I had selected wasn't at all right for me. I was becoming a drone. I had people working under me, at my beck and call, vying for my job. And do you know what? While I looked fine on the outside, I was dying inside. I realized then that there was absolutely no way I could continue to build fucking gas stations for the rest of my life."
A: "Well, I'm glad to see that ta sixteen-year-old anarcho-punk rock kid still rests inside of you.."
M.: "Hah, yeah."
A.: "The idea of being defined by a job, a career, really terrifies me. Of having people ask me what it is I do, and saying something like 'oh, I'm a librarian!' instead of 'well, I love to draw and cook and write and send letters in the mail and walk barefoot in shaded grass. That scares me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fit into a 'career'. I don't think I want to.. but I fear I'll end up doing it anyway."
M.: "Well, even the fact that you're conscious of your desire to stay away from the nine-to-five zombie mentality means a lot. It'll keep you out of that sort of career."
A.: "I just want everything I do to be filled with passion, y'know? I want the entire world to knock my socks off, every goddamn day."

He dropped me off, and I stepped out onto the sidewalk with inspiration in my wee little heart.

I'm tired. I stay up too late and get up too early. I wonder if this semester will keep me balanced or drive me completely batty. We'll see.

One more thing about work:

A man walked into my convenience store this evening and said that he had a really sore throat, and that it was worsening day by day. I was about to point him in the direction of the various lozenges we keep in stock, but the next thing he said caught me completely off guard- ".. So what kind of cigarettes do you recommend I buy?"

I must've looked like a jerk, because I just stared blank-faced at him for several moments before responding that I had no idea. He picked up "something light, but not too light". I don't smoke. I know nothing about cigarettes. I don't want to internalize the terms and brands associated with them, much like I do not wish to have lottery games imprinted on my brain.

So, locals, it looks like I'll be coming out to this SG event on Saturday night. Me, at an internet gathering? Who knew? I'll probably drink enough to curb my shyness (I'm half-kidding..), but I promise I won't drink so much that I devolve into Sloppy Makeout Girl.