I realized today, about five minutes ago, that I am absolutely terrified of trying to find a new job, and I do not want to do this forever, and I'm slowly ruining my own life with fear.
Not that I'm looking for a job, because I'm not. I have no plans of quitting. But seriously, after working here, what step up do I take?
I mean, my mom got me this internship here two and half years ago, and then I was promoted...but still. The four years preceding this job were full of interviews and denials, hundreds (thousands?) of resumes detailing dog grooming and zookeeping and bartending and whatever. Cracking into the Suit World is fucking hard when you have no marketable skills, no goals, and you barely graduated college.
They really advertise my insignificance around here when I'm not invited to things where the Important People all hang out with each other and talk about investing and financial stuff. I'm a fucking office manager. Children could do my job. Really really small ones. With sticky hands and speech impediments.
I know I can't do businessy things because I'm not cut out for this. Where do I go to make things and build things? Is there a job for that? Thing-doing? The only tangible goal I have in my life is to someday make enough money to live in a place with a yard so I can have a dog.
I'm trying to have a more ambitious mindset, I'm trying to learn the game, but I'm not a kiss-ass, I'm not a go-getter, I'm not very sharp, and I really have no self-confidence at anything other than telling stories and drinking, and I learned all of this about myself, really and truly, and understood it, about five minutes ago.
I miss waiting tables. I liked being the promising fuck-up instead of the disappointing success.
Man, I am such a fucking baby right now.
Shit. And I'm crying at my desk. I don't do this. No one's in the office right now, though. Every single other person is at an important meeting.
So at least they can't see me.
How did I get here? Happy childhood, no trauma, no abuse, very clean. Everything about me was/is average. Okay grades, good family. Good friends. At least I think they're good friends, and by that I mean the best friends like ever. Is that what it is? Is it because my friends are better than everyone elses, so to balance out that overwhelming Awesome, everything else must be mundane?
No great love or relationship, as always. I have an okay job which I do well enough. Chicago is an okay place to live (it is a fantastic place to live and a horrible place to live - so, you know, concept of balance). I'm not superhot but I sure ain't superugly. I support myself, but don't save. I get along with people well enough, unless I decide they're a douchebag.
I am the opposite of extraordinary. Is that why I turned to writing - so I can take all of the banal, the useless, the boring, and grind it out until I think it's linked together and delicious, like sausage?
How could I expect to write anything with a plot when my life lacks one?
So obviously, I need to go and start some shit. I don't know what, but I've been yammering about epicness lately, and then nothing epic really happened, so that means if some epic shit's going to go down, then it's up to me, right? Right.
Okay. I feel better now.