The Kid That Didn't Go to Wentworth

I’ve begun to notice that life is a funny thing. Happiness is fleeting. Urges are tantamount. And sometimes the two never meet…I say this because as I sat broke and in college, all I could think about was the day I started working and could make ALL that money. I suppose though that when I thought about said money, I never thought about ALL that would go in to making it.
At the time I was in college and had taken out a loan that was more than any car I had growing up – matter of fact, it was worth more than pretty much all those cars combined. Someone somewhere along the line told me this was the way to go. To continue on this path would one day pay for the education that I was getting. And as I sat in those classes, the other admin personnel told us about how glamorous work can be. AND we can get ALL that money.
But as I sat in those classes – well at least the ones I actually went to – I found myself disinterested. And those jobs the nice ladies prattled on about didn’t seem all that glamorous. But I really did like the sound of ALL that money.
So I did continue on the path that I was told would lead me somewhere. (Though looking back it’s really a catch-22. I was studying something that was boring me, taking out hella high loans to do it and hoping I could get a job that could pay it off in a reasonable amount of time. I’m sorry – which came first, the rooster or the hen?) And said path has led me somewhere. But it’s nowhere near where I ever envisioned being. I’m sitting at a desk that’s really just one of those shitty plastic picnic tables from Home Depot. I’m listening to people who couldn’t ever pass any class I ever had – including the ones I passed with almost zero self-application.
That’s when it hits me. I’ve never applied myself. I coasted in high school cuz it was a joke. I fought any teacher who challenged me with things I didn’t like until they challenged me with things I did. This gave me a greater sense of self importance than I deserved. So I went for this crazy expensive degree cuz I have a head made of concrete and wanted to get on the first fastest moving object that would take me farthest from home. I got to working at this degree and didn’t like it. (Not all the hard work, but I don’t see the merit in hard work for something you don’t like – it’s like the total opposite of masturbation.) I finished by the grace of God in a shade under a decade and took the second job offer that came my way. (I justified it because I made an extra something-grand per year, as opposed to my first real offer.)
But of all that time ‘working’ in class rooms and libraries, I never stopped to look at the things I actually worked at. Once I changed over to fat, drunk and stupid (and ‘retired’ from basketball), the only things that made me happy were my creative endeavors. But that ish don’t pay well. And I don’t have a rich Uncle PennyBags to pay my loans – if I did, I’da asked him to pay tuition in the first damned place. So here I am, working a job that should be a career. A job that I love and loathe, it just depends what day you ask me. A job that I can no longer see myself doing 10 years from now. A job that pays me well enough that I feel guilty for hating it.
So I’ve come to this conclusion. I sold my soul. I sold my soul when I didn’t leave school back in the day, but instead took on more loans. I’m a complete whore. I lost all dignity and self respect. I live by other people’s rules. I gave in. And now that I’ve begun to fight it, I get in trouble for ‘having a bad attitude’. I’m the bad guy because I won’t take the same crap that the those assholes would when they started doing this. I’m the bad guy for having my own thought process. Oh well, at least every Wednesday when I wake up, my bank account shows ALL that money.
I am lucky though. I do have a chance to buy my soul back…plus 10% interest.