Another Irish Drinking Song

I miss college. I am reaching the point where I am starting to wonder if the whole thing wasn't just a very detailed, lengthy lucid dream I had. The nightmare I had last week is weighing heavily on my mind. I hate this job. Not even the work itself is the worst, though it is awful - no, what I hate is what I feel I am losing. Creativity. Drive. Days of life. This is my last year as a "teenager," and I have barely seen the sun so far. You start to realize how people can spend thirty-five years working this shit job in this shit place, and that's because you get so tired, so worn, so hurt, that it's easier to sit and stay than to get up and run and never come back.

I want to go out somewhere. I want to do all the stupid, ill-advised things I've spent my entire life being too sensible to do. I want to laugh and run and hope and reach out and grasp the stars in my fist. When Sean and I were dating the winter of my junior year, he promised me that he'd show me how to break into the middle school and climb onto the roof once summer came. We broke up in February and that never happened, obviously. I wish it had happened. I wish I could just get out. Eight months away at school and I'd managed to forget how stifling this town is, how stunted your dreams become because of the size of the planter they're grown in. It's worse because I feel like I caught a whiff, a taste of the Big Wide Open World, before coming back here and chaining myself to this job.

I'm quitting after the first week in August. I'm squeezing a summer into those three weeks thereafter, and then I go back to school. I'm not stuck here. I'm not going to be working at Offset forever. But it feels like I am. Deep in my heart, it feels like the past six-seven weeks have been a lifetime, and I've got another lifetime ahead before it's done. I can't imagine what it's like not to have an escape route. When you're little, and your parents say that education will open doors, you don't realize what they mean because you've never gotten a glimpse of what it's like to be stuck behind when the doors shut. I've seen it. It scares the fucking shit out of me. I try to commiserate with my mom, but she has little sympathy for me. I can't honestly blame her. I've had a great life. I'm not going to be throwing bundles for thirty-five years. I know all this. But there's knowing and then there's feeling, and right now, I feel a nameless terror at the sight of adulthood, nearing and leering ever closer to me. My feet ache. My shoulders ache. My head aches. My heart aches. I can barely write anymore.

At this point, I don't even give a shit about the money. I want out. I want out.

I need to get back to writing my fanfics. But guess what? I CAN'T GET AT THEM. They're all Word 2007, which hasn't been reinstalled on my laptop yet. I'm only running my emergency backup MS Office 2003 programs, which can't open 2007. WHOOP-DE-FRIGGING-DOO.


Also: /curls up with this icon and sobs self to sleep

Five hours.

Five straight hours of scanning, deleting, panicking, informal-tech-support-calling, and swearing.

This is the second time that I have gotten some sort of trojan out of absolutely NOWHERE just from browsing deviantArt.

I'm putting my foot down.  Never again.  I don't care if I have to go my entire life without ever seeing a fanart again.




s-sob and I just wanted to see some pretty Sasuke/Karin AND THERE WEREN'T EVEN ANY GOOD ONES AND HALF OF THEM WERE SASUSAKUS THAT BASHED KARIN FML FML FML FML