soup

It is Wednesday. Afternoon. I am having vegetable beef soup for lunch, with crackers and Irish cheddar. Outside the weather is 87 degrees. Warmer than my soup.

I realized today that I have lost my dream. Rather, I realized today that I do not have one and perhaps never did. Instead I believe that I have simply been performing my life’s duties in a fashion that causes others to be pleased with my actions. This results in a false sense of pride for me, so that I understand the actions themselves to be pleasing.

They are not.

The things that have brought me joy, fleeting as it has been, have been people. Those I have loved and lost myself in. There is tragedy in sensitivity and understanding because it eliminates the ability to find fault. I am unable to hold others accountable for actions that might otherwise be considered undesirable. Such allowances brought me the love of my life, and permitted unthinkable torment as I questioned my own morality while omitting the possibility (and necessity) that he possess any of his own.

Perhaps the reason I haven’t found a job is because I’ve been applying for positions that I am capable of performing well in, rather than ones that I actually want. Maybe my poor relationship choices can be attributed to the fact that I stay in situations where I place the happiness of my partner before my own, accepting qualities that I would usually consider unacceptable because I don’t want to be considered as judgemental.

Job hunting is like dating; practicing good grooming, smiling, dressing and smelling nice. Delivering what you think are the right answers to all of your interrogator’s questions so you’ll be invited in for coffee later. Trying desperately to get to earn full time status before they realize you’re just there for the free office supplies and mediocre health care.

Unfortunately right about now I’d rather just take my vitamins and shower in the rain. I don’t even like coffee that much.