A Pocket Full Of Feel Sorry For Myself

As I write this, I have over another hour of work to get through. I'm thinking, "Is this my life?" Day in and day out I suffer from utter boredom staring blankly at the computer screen. I begin to wonder how many times I can check my e-mail and Myspace in the course of one day. I get frustrated when people don't respond to my messages. Ugh. Is this how I'm going to spend the rest of my life? Struggling with boredom? Going through the motions of a daily routine? Wash, rinse, cycle, repeat? I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not that my job is horrible--it's actually somewhat tolerable--it's just I don't know what I want. I've had jobs that have required a lot of driving and I hated those, too. I dislike sitting in front of a computer all day, but most office type job require this. I guess I dislike the lulls in the day. Every day seems the same, like I'm waiting for, well, I'm not sure what.

If I could afford it, I'd take my money and travel around the world. Alas, it's all linked together. You can't do shit if you don't have money and the only way to get money is to have a job. Any job. Therefore, I am stuck. Even if I could make a living as a writer, I'd still be stuck in front of the computer all day, but at least I could venture out more. I could travel for work. I could go on some great safari and write about it for National Geographic, although I'm sure that's been done before. Today I have an article in the Onion, which is always exciting. I impressed my boss with it. It seems sort of contrasting to have a day job and then see my name in print in an immensely popular publication. I guess that's life: the whole ying and yang thing. It balances itself out. I'm also sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Co-worker sits like 15 feet from me and I wonder if he even likes me in that special way or if he just thinks I'm some weird chick he works with. Then my thoughts turn gloomy and I ruminate how I'm probably gonna spend the rest of my life all alone and nothing will ever work out for me. I'll spend the rest of my life husbandless, with a stupid low-paying job, fleeting moments of writing success that'll fade away by the time I'm 32. I'll never see the world because I'll never be able to afford it. And then I'll gain like 50 pounds and be too ashamed to leave my house.

Okay, now I'm really feeling sorry for myself. Or, the other scenario: I keep working hard, network my ass off, put my faith in the universe, work my angles, make myself available, keep putting myself out there, learn as much as I can about everything so at least I seem smart, pray someone "discovers" me, be proactive, grab life by its horns and just go for it in all aspects. I then put those guys out of my mind, be coolly aloof and then they'll come around when I least expect it. I then fall in love with a great guy, we run off to NY together, get a nice place in Brooklyn, I get an amazing/high paying writing gig, and hubby (yes, I do want to get married someday, just not for a while) and I live happily ever after.

Or, I could go home and cry.

Or, I could go home, eat a microwaveable burrito and sulk.

I really need to re-learn French.