If two roads diverged in a yellow wood and you took the one less traveled by, would it really make all the difference? Or perhaps, would you stroll on this desolate road feeling like a complete and total ass? My money is on the latter.
Today was one of those days that you know you should have stayed in bed but got up anyway determined to fight the good fight of life and ended up losing by 11:00am. I have been sick for over a week and although I was still feeling sick this AM I decided that it was time for me to go to work and actually work for a living instead of sleeping countless hours on my couch while taking antibiotics.
Well, I went to work only to be really really really and tremendously disappointed, and coupled with the sicknesses, I seriously considered that it may be time to hang up the towel and find a new venture that is more to my liking. Nothing is worse to me than being disappointed, I would much rather be sad or pissed or in pain then be disappointed, because I feel as if I can never really recover from disappointment. A bit dramatic yes, but totally true.
So there I sat at 11:00am with my work bag packed, a box of tissues for my constantly running nose and headed home on the non bullet train all the while seriously considering looking for another job. I mean what would I do? Would I stay in the profession I honestly love but am underappreciated at? I mean don’t I have responsibilities to myself, my loved ones and my clients so is this even a viable thought? Maybe I could just quit and do nothing, just workout and cook delish yet healthy well-balanced meals for my parents and Xtian. Before I knew it I dosed off and started to hallucinate myself running down different paths yet with nowhere to go.
So in my dream I sat there at the quasi critical fork in the road (or as critical as it can seem when one is in her 20s) staring at each road with not in as much as an inclination of where to go and with enough apathy to really not give a damn. I mean really, what the hell is the point? How often can we throw our hands up in the air and say fuck it and meander our way through life without a care in the world? Once maybe twice at most?
Well you know what? I have already been there and done that. While I remember that period in my life with quite fondness, and will save the details as to why I am so jaded for another post, I am so over having to explain to people that I don’t have a job because I don’t want one and I am “finding myself”. In your early 20s that is cute in a Jack Kerouac kinda way, but in your 30s you’re just the butt of a slacker joke my friend.
So when the train came to a halt at my station I woke up feeling a little foggy and like a complete and total overdramatic idiot. The thought of me going off the beaten path to become this total hard body bohemian cooking delish meals is laughable at best. Maybe for me this is the real sign that the death of my 20s fast approaches, when even typing that thought of myself as a maverick for my generation makes me laugh rather sarcastically and crave alcoholic beverages of the grape variety.
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