A Miserable Day

A Tale of Agony and Defeat in Three Parts

Part One: In which the heroine finds herself utterly alone in the world and tries to console herself by clinging to a desparate hope for "Better Days" as promised once in a song.
Today was a dreary day. Clouds loomed, but not even rain came to visit. It was one of those days from the second the alarm sent me flailing off my bed, tangled in covers, until this very second, that nothing was right. That is not to say, of course, that everything was wrong (because then it would be all right). No, it was more hopeless than that. It was a "crying over spilled milk" and "sobbing over the way the cookie crumbled" mixed with a bit of "choking on the regrets" kind of day. Try as I might, I couldn't get a grip.

So, I did the usual. I listened to happy music to make me happy--it made me angry. I listened to angry music to help me get over my mood--it made me sad. I listened to sad music to set the mood for my sulk party--and all hope disappeared from the world. We can't have none of this I says to myself (for my interior monologues are always riddled with poor grammar), and I plowed on through my day. I listened intently to the presentation of The Recruiting Officer. I read Brecht while I ate my lunch. I brought Brecht with me to the Job Search Clinic and laughed outloud in frustration when it didn't make sense to me. I went religiously to my Modern Drama class. I perked myself up with some caffeine and chocolate at break. And then I quit.

Part Two: In which the heroine realizes her shortcomings and attempts to quit everything. Failing miserably to even quit, and the miserable day continues, as all days must.
Screw Earth Science, I decided, I'm going home. And here I have been ever since. I thought writing a blog would make me feel better--the computer crashed. Clearly, there is something screwy about my logic because everything I did to make things better ended in bitter failure. Story of my life; except that I'm morally opposed to failure. I'm also opposed to being denied the things I want, like the right to write an essay on the topic I choose. My Emersonian reading of anti-Americanism in Fury would have been beautiful and poignant. But when the world collapses because it's been robbed of that gem of academia, I will delightedly point you in the direction of that prof.

In the mean time, I'll be distastefully sweet and kind. Hostile Wednesday will have a strange bite to it. But that's life, my dears, and we will keep on keeping on whether we like it or not.

Part Three: In which the heroine provides yet another list for her devoted followers, providing renewed hope for bitter but not miserable days in the future.
Now, feeling completely useless, I'd like to share another part of my day that I glossed over. I was waiting for class to start, and a fellow classmate who I am doing a presentation with next week spotted me. We talked over the presentation and our availability. Then she asked me what I was going to do with my degree. It's endless. Everybody always asks me that. I gave her some excellent advice, and pointed her towards my favourite book on careers. She was just curious about her options, not skeptical about the likelihood of available options.

Of course that got me thinking about the first post I put on here and how well it portrayed each and every one of my grievances without the hassle of names and dates--you know, facts. And as a result, I have compiled my third list of possible career avenues. This list focuses exclusively on jobs for the anti-social underachiever. Here they are:

• Fortune Teller: This job lost some points because it requires interaction with people, but there is a certain sinister aspect to fortune telling that really draws me to it. The fact is, no one expects a fortune teller to tell the truth or even the future, so you get to fuck with people's lives however you see fit. And if they are dumb enough to believe you and pay to be manipulated like that... all the better.
• Food Critic: The words "I can't talk, I'm eating" are indispensable for the anti-social underachiever. And no body needs to practise eating. So this job gets bonus points for the lazy factor. On top of all that, food critics get to hide their identity...how much more anti-social can you get?
• Movie Critic: There are only two places a movie critic needs to be: watching a movie (in the dark where no one is supposed to be talking) or writing the article (in the privacy of one's own home). Move this one to the top of the list if you have a lock on your door. It ranks above food critic because movies don't make you fat.
• Parts Picker: Now hear me out! Anti-social: the supervisors love you more when you don't talk to anybody. Lazy: brainwise--your brain will probably just melt or die from lack of use. I know mine did.
• Bus Driver: No body can tell me that bus drivers are expected to be nice or intelligent. They are mean and they really like trying to run me over.
• Librarian: I'm sorry, but this job sounds sweet. My favourite part is definitely the shushing. I don't get to shush people often enough. Maybe I should start.
• Postal Worker: Oh, the person that delivers the mail...how much can be said? The job is getting easier by the day because people are walking further and further to get their mail themselves. In the interest of keeping our mail secure, we've agreed to walk down several flights of stairs or to the end of the street. Postal workers don't even have to deliver to houses with aggressive dogs or their bastard children any more. What is the world coming to?
• Distance Studies Teacher: Now, I thought it was a sweet deal to get to read lectures online in my bedroom. But just think of the prof that gets to recycle lectures year after year and doesn't even have to say them outloud, just post them on the internet. Moreover, tons of these profs have grad students for assistants, and the grad student does the grunt work. It's perfect. You don't even have to know anything.

Holy mack, if you're not tired of reading that's too damn bad--I am tired of writing. I hope I've inspired some something...or at least helped you convince yourself that your life is relatively wonderful when you hold mine up as an alternative. And Jennifer: this is a perfect example of weinist resistance because it is resisting even itself. More on that next time. Sleep sweet. I was not the answer so forget you ever thought it was me--or convert.