Thanks, and No Thanks

Mother packed me breakfast/lunch. She /packed/ me a sandwich, coffee, yogurt and banana which is just right for breakfast and lunch, then dropped me off at school on her way to work. Doesn’t that sound like your typical morning routine, save that we headed out at 4:30am? I wished she had done this when I was younger, perhaps in high school, so that I wouldn’t grow up hating both my parents so much. And the sad thing is, if things hadn’t gone the way they did, I probably wouldn’t be where I am know, and wouldn’t be who I am today.

Sure, I can do without the occasional nervous breakdowns, the lack of self-esteem and disconnect from the rest of society, but nothing like hardship to set fire underneath your bum and get you moving. Spending Thanksgiving at my parents’ house reminded me how much I don’t want their life, and how hard I’m willing to work to get out of this town – which says something, since this is one heck of a wonderful town. I just don’t want to become assembly men and nurses, because while their nail-grinding tribulations have instilled in me good work ethics and honesty, I want a life with more liberties, a job of invention rather than production. I want to do more than work 6am-6pm, then come home and watch TV before bed. There’s got to be more than that in my life, and I shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting more than the average worker’s day.

I come home, and I feel like I’m back in the dumps, scraping and scrounging to make a living and I feel bad for thinking so little of my parents’ lives. I catch myself thinking, “I’m better than this, better than them,” and the horror at that thought throws me into a foul mood. I’ve always looked up to my parents for their work ethics and suddenly I find myself looking down, and it’s sickening. Why can’t I be like others and aspire to become their parents, and somewhere along the way passing them? Why do I have to feel that I’ve already passed them, so that the road ahead is entirely unknown and they can’t offer me advice? It’s like I keep having to stop, turn back and pull them along with me.

I know I’m lost and confused when my writing turns out terribly. There’s no art to this, no poetry, no understanding or meaning to be found. Just a lot of negativity.