Your Paradise is My Purgatory

So, I’m thinking I need to rethink how my computer is set up.  It doesn’t exactly seem conducive to me wanting to write. Everything is off center with my body turned one way – not even sitting properly in the fold-out chair I use – and the computer northwest of my position. I suppose on the one hand it allows me to focus more on the keyboard as opposed to staring at a screen…that I can’t directly look at. Oh look…it’s my back door that is now in clear sight. And in that line of sight is a decrepit, pitiful excuse of a patio the owner of the house built. It’s weathered. It’s rotting. It looks atrocious. And there’s the stray cat. She lies down to sleep. Lazy piece of shit. No doubt just wondering when I might make a move to the back door so she can start crying that she’s hungry. Well, too bad. I’ve fed you already. No more until before I go to bed. Something has caught her attention. Probably a butterfly. Or maybe a bird has come close that she will undoubtedly try to act like a cat and kill it. Fucking savage.

Why don’t Apple keyboards have a home/end button so I can skip around on sentences. Holding down an arrow key is so blasé. I don’t think I’ve used that word right.

I swear, if anyone spoils This Is Us’ finale tonight on Facebook, or twitter, or ask Yahoo!, I will Liam Neeson their ass. Actually, just watched it and nothing I expected to happen, did. Wonderful ending monologue by Jack.

If you weren’t able to tell by now, I have no idea what I’m writing about. Maybe I just wanted to get some random thoughts out of my head. Perhaps I came to vent but as it happens so often, when it comes time to say what you wanted, it just seems trivial.

I hate my job. I really….like(?) who I work for overall, but my job can fall off a cliff, without me, obviously, and I’d be cool with it. If you are anything like me and have been doing something for nearly, as long, or longer than I have, then you remember what it was like, where things started to change, and one day it hits you that it is NOTHING like it was before. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it has. That’s life. One day you wake up and realize, “Fuck, I’m almost 33.” Have I really been doing the same job for almost 15 years now? Sure, I move around a bit because of it, but how did I really end up here? Where am I going next? Is that light at the end of the tunnel really worth all that I have endured? Or am I really so short-sighted on being far-sighted that I have missed everything in between?

Here’s the scary, cliché answer:

I. Don’t. Know.

I just know that I want the hell out of here. What everyone assumes is paradise, to me, is more like purgatory, and what I thought was purgatory was more like paradise.

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