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I spent the night before last with one old friend and four new friends. I also split my time between three subways on the way back, but that’s a story I could tell you at a later date. At one point, one of the guys said, “My friend, you certainly have a way with words.”

That got me thinking, “Shit, he’s absolutely right. I cannot sit around and pretend the people I interviewed with are going to call me about the job. It’s October. Talent like this should not be wasted.” I kind of sound like that kid you hated in high school for being too full of himself (shit! did you know and hate me in high school? sunnuvabitchzzzz), but there is no excuse for a college degree from a school like mine and a part time job at Victoria’s Secret.

Yesterday I wrote a cover letter that started with: “Please save me from a career at Victoria’s Secret.” I’m sure part of it comes from how I’m the only person not searching for more hours at the store–I appear to be the only person who has bigger dreams. One girl was trying to get to know me and she asked me, “So what’s your story? Do you have classes? Are you in college?” I was a little shocked to realize that I still–almost beard and all–kind of have a babyface. Babyface enough to fool one of my fellow employees into thinking that I have class tomorrow. But I didn’t go that route and told her that I already graduated and that all I do these days in my off-time is write cover letters. That’s obviously an exaggeration, but I guess it’s even odd that people either work here while attempting to get out or attempting to make a career with it. Then in the back, the third and most disheartening category exists: the people attempting to work as little as possible during as many hours as possible. That is to say, the final category is made up of people who seem to want to get out but aren’t getting educated, aren’t really trying (applying) for anything else.

I told my new friends about that and one had lived in my area for the last year. He said that eventually, when you move out, you regain part of your faith in humanity. I told him I was hoping I wasn’t becoming a racist. There’s some old saying, something like, When you are the only person who does not fit in in your community, you start to hate everyone else. Luckily, the election is in a month, and this won’t affect my vote.

But still, I’m hoping I don’t start hating people on welfare. I guess I also hope I don’t start assuming that everyone I meet is poorly educated, satisfied with part time/shitty pay in a recession and a parent of four bastard children. It’s easier to generalize about these sort of things when you think it’s the standard. Oh fuck, I’m already on my way. Just as my friend who lived near me said, I won’t look back on these days with adoration, but they will transform my thought. Hopefully it makes me more conscious of the needy instead of hateful.

Let me cling to my optimism–it’s helped me stay alive so far.

Which reminds me, these words have to be crafted, written, rewritten, scoured, researched, catalogued, investigated, trusted, loved. If I’m going to get to where I need (want) to be, I need to write and play guitar more. Screw you, TV!


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