Dirty Cubicles.

Sometimes I wonder what it will be like when I die. And when. And how. I wonder how often other people think of it. We don't think about it as often as we should probably, in fact, I think most people do everything they can to not think about it. We scurry about trying to cram all these meaninless and trivial things into our daily routine, altogether ignoring the fact that at any given second you can have a brain aneurysm and drop dead without warning. What good will your credit score be then? Won't you be glad you purchased that flat screen TV earlier in the week?

I'm sitting here in my little cubicle, plugged in to a headset. I'm nibbling on a bowl of overpriced pasta, sipping on an energy drink because I didn't get enough sleep last night. I've got my headphones in, listening to the steady calming drum beats and atmospheric notes of a song called Blues for Uncle Gibb. I'm taking calls and listening to complaints. I'm plugged in to a job I care nothing for, sitting in a huge building with no markings, talking to customers that I will share five minutes of my life with and then never speak to or think of again. I'm spending eight hours of my day in a little cubicle, five feet wide and four feet deep. I'm surrounded by people, yet I can only hear the dull roar of the crowd. I can't pick out any distinct voices.

Is this really what I want to be doing with my life?

Working a nine to five and then taking the hour drive back home. Putting my sweats and baggy t-shirt on, and flopping down on the couch. Maybe a movie before bed. I'll call my mom on the drive home from work, we'll exchange pleasantries and talk about our days, and then five minutes into the call I'll recieve a pseudo-lecture about how I should be in school, I should be dating a nice Mormon boy, I need to start going to church again. I should be saving my money, I should be more outgoing, I should decide what I want to be when I grow up. I shouldn't drink, I shouldn't smoke, I should eat better, I should call my parents more often. Be nice to my aunt and uncle, get along with your younger sister, help her to make more friends. Say, "I know". And, "You're right". Promise to start doing better. Promise to do what you know is best for me.

Still haven't finished my overpriced pasta. Haven't talked to my mom in two days. I've gone way over my breaktime. Didn't go to church yesterday. Made a mess on someone else's desk. Been ignored for the most part by the guy I like. Thought about my ex and smiled at a random memory, then cursed myself for it. Decided to postpone school for another semester. Came up with some wild, liberating ideas and then cowered at the thought of putting them into action.

This is what I want to do today. I want to stand up, slip on my shoes, and walk out of this building. Drive home, silence in the car. Walk inside the house, get the duffle bag from under my bed, and fill it with clothes. Drive to the bank, withdraw my pitiful pile of savings, and fill up my tank. Then I'll drive. And I'll drive and I'll drive and I'll drive north. I'll travel down deserted sideroads and drive on the freeway going the speed limit and not a mile over. I'll travel through sagebrush and cracked earth, then through fields and dirt lots. The land will be flat for a long time. Then I'll start to see some pines, things will start to turn green. The dry weeds will disappear, dirt will be replaced by moss. I'll begin to pick out signs saying, "Watch for deer", depicting a buck leaping with its hooves tucked beneath it's chest, as if clearing an obstacle in its path.

I'll find the coast, I'll stop at the ocean. I'll get out of my car, sit on the beach with my headphones in and then take them out when I realize that the waves create music more lovely than what man can birth. I'll get up and walk to the edge of the waves and let it roll over my feet. The water will be freezing, but that's okay because I'd rather feel those pinpricks of ice on my skin than feel nothing at all. I don't feel enough these days.

So what's holding me back?

My parents' expectations. My job. My family. My lack of savings. The fact that I should really be saving my money for school.

The world and all it's ideas of what I should be doing with my life is holding me back from
complete
and
utter
freedom.


This is my life. I'll be twenty-one in thirty-four days. I'm in no relationship, I have no house payment, and I have no car payment. I have a car, which makes up for it's lack of style with a fierce loyalty and dependability. I have nothing tying me down.



What are you waiting for?