Last night you bought Madden 09 because a Snickers deal saved you eight bucks at 7-11. Last night you drank Russian vodka. Last night you thought a lot about Denver and why the plan lacks the appeal it did before. Last night you watched Half Baked for the second time. Last night you got stoned. Last night you got your financial aid check (and this morning you paid off $1,433.18 of your credit card). Last night you worked on an art project you plucked out of Half-Life 2. Last night you stayed up obnoxiously late until the aforementioned art project was complete (and this morning you hung it up above the door). Last night you were worried you'd feel bored and lonely but it turned out to be just right.
You're only writing this to kill some time before work. You're driving today. Someone almost stole your hat when it flew off your head as you biked across the Range / Guerneville intersection. Amy stopped by to kill some time before she went to work -- she's gone now -- and she brought you hot chocolate and a pizza bagel.
This is what bothers you about the Denver Plan: it's not your plan.
The idea is you'll move to Denver and stay with your uncle, Brett, and his wife, Megan, while being hooked up with a job in Megan's father's advertising company (or some media-connected field like that). But the matter-of-fact way that your mom reminds you of how it's going to play out is what distresses you. You hate it. You hate that you hate it, too. Denver is cool. You've been there a few times, now, and you know you like the city. It's like the Seattle of the Rockies. Sure, you hate the Broncos and will probably get stabbed on the street for wearing a Raiders shirt, but that's okay. Denver seems like a place you'd enjoy living, and you totally know that. But still...
You remind yourself how much A'romas (or any coffeeshop) is a temporary, transitional job. It's the college job. It's not a career. It's a starting point. A place to meet people and not take life too seriously. When you graduate it will be time to really figure out what the next step is. In your vision of the future, you work simple side jobs and write novels. But that won't happen right away. And do you really want to keep the status quo as it has been? Living paycheck to paycheck? You know this is going to be a hard pill to swallow.
Now you have to go to work.
You're only writing this to kill some time before work. You're driving today. Someone almost stole your hat when it flew off your head as you biked across the Range / Guerneville intersection. Amy stopped by to kill some time before she went to work -- she's gone now -- and she brought you hot chocolate and a pizza bagel.
This is what bothers you about the Denver Plan: it's not your plan.
The idea is you'll move to Denver and stay with your uncle, Brett, and his wife, Megan, while being hooked up with a job in Megan's father's advertising company (or some media-connected field like that). But the matter-of-fact way that your mom reminds you of how it's going to play out is what distresses you. You hate it. You hate that you hate it, too. Denver is cool. You've been there a few times, now, and you know you like the city. It's like the Seattle of the Rockies. Sure, you hate the Broncos and will probably get stabbed on the street for wearing a Raiders shirt, but that's okay. Denver seems like a place you'd enjoy living, and you totally know that. But still...
You remind yourself how much A'romas (or any coffeeshop) is a temporary, transitional job. It's the college job. It's not a career. It's a starting point. A place to meet people and not take life too seriously. When you graduate it will be time to really figure out what the next step is. In your vision of the future, you work simple side jobs and write novels. But that won't happen right away. And do you really want to keep the status quo as it has been? Living paycheck to paycheck? You know this is going to be a hard pill to swallow.
Now you have to go to work.
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