Fucked Up College Kids File 059

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Fucked Up College Kids

 · 5 years ago

  

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=  F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.  = 
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 { Author's note : I was majorly depressed when I typed this into a local }     
     
 { BBS.  It sucks from an English point of view, but it got my emotions   } 
 { across well enough.  For the concerned reader (yeah right) I am feeling} 
 { much better now, and without medication even.                          } 

                        Depression, the Future, and Me.          
                        ------------------------------- 

        Hmm, now that I have to prepare for going off to college, barring  
that I not be accepted, I have started thinking about the rest of my life, 
specifically, a career. 
        And I don't want to.  I mean, a job is fine.  I've had a few, and I 
liked them, but a real career?  I don't think I could handle it.  I have  
enough trouble with school, and the day to day monotony.  At least school has 
summers and major holidays off.  A career. 
        Fucking going to work every day, doing the same thing over and over, 
again and again.  How long is my life going to be?  At a minimum 40 to 45  
years.  I can't bear the thought that I will go to college and spend money    
that neither my family or I has or will be likely to get soon, just so I can 
be qualified for a job that will burn me out in about 10 years or less. 
        The future is a grim thing for me.  To me the future is like a death 
sentence hanging over my head, and the only crime I ever committed is being  
born into a world of increasingly specialized fields.  You can't even go from 
one good job to another without the time and money to get a brand new  
education.  Damn. 
        One damn word, all hard edged and sharp, like a shot bouncing off a  
wall into your head.  KA-REER.  Nothing to do about it but sit and rot. 
        Of course, what are the options I have?  Getting a good job, working 
9-5 five days a week.  Sure, I could do that until I am middle aged and then 
just eat a gun over the keyboard I chained myself to.  Blow my brains into 
the spreadsheet for a major project that my job would depend on. 
        Or I could accept the work, and live for the goods.  Shut off all of  
the idealism  and be a fucking YUPPIE.  Turn off all the depression and own  
a new damn BMW every three years for me and my dumpy wife and dumpy kids to  
drive around in. 
        Of course, that won't work.  I can't be a 9-5 person.  I chafe at any 
type of firm pattern or schedule.  I need more danger in my life than a system 
crash at work.  More challenge than learning the new company software.  More 
to fear than being fired. 
        Depressingly enough, I can't do the wandering handyman routine either. 
There isn't much quality of life there.  Sitting around doing odd jobs and  
slowly dying with no major accomplishments. 
        I think it is called a grind because it grinds you down into grease 
for the corporate wheels.  Grist for the world mill. 
        So, what comes next?  Do I keep looking over that next hill?  Trying 
to be happy until I want to choke with joy.  I suppose I could keep wandering 
and trying to find just the right thing.  That might be cool.  Maybe I could 
get a folk song written about me. 
        It just all looks black and depressing to me. 

I dunno. 

-fastjack 

 
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