Tuesday, September 3, 2013

A Cause to Fight for

            I know I’ve been away from the blog writing for a while. Unfortunately my time has been mostly consumed with a search for a job. A job, job, job. Finding a job is nearly a job in and of itself. It’s hell. I don’t like it one bit. Of course it probably would be helpful if I knew what it was that I wanted to do with myself. I do not have a passion for any nine to five cubicle type job, nor do I like the sound of driving around in a van or stocking heavy things, or talking with people or faking being nice just to toe the company line. It’s just not something I can convince myself to do.

             I’ve always hoped for a cause to get behind, but my passions are weak. I’m generally weak in my desires and quite plain in my pursuits. I’ve thought about jobs in Community Outreach or doing something to help people, but then I see that I have very few qualifications in that field of work. I’ve been far too trapped in the insurance industry for far too long and my experience in anything else is quite small. I’m not that marketable as a human commodity.

             I also hate to be referred as a human commodity. The anti-establishmentarian in me can’t stand to be quantified and filed away in some office cubicle. I’ve no will, no stomach for it. I just don’t believe in anything enough to want to do it for a living. A life of passion, zeal and enthusiasm seems so foreign to me. It’s probably the clinical depression talking too. I’ve no motivation. It’s not that I’m lazy or stupid. I’m really neither of those things. I just don’t like much.

             I’m begging for something to believe in. I know that it won’t just knock on my door and say, “Hey Michael, here’s that thing to believe in and care for and feel the joy of pride in something well done. See you later, in hell”. 

             I’m both smart and stupid at the same time and it’s a battle of the mind constantly being played out over the battle ground of my brain. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m disinterested. I’m disenchanted by most things. I’ve become cynical about myself, yet always hope for the best for others. I like to see people do well but feel envy over their success. I can’t get over it, but let it roll off my façade like it was nothing.

             I fume. I fluster. I waste time. I am the lost man; the lost boy in a man’s body. Drifting through life without purpose or destination yet upset about the shores on which I arrive. I don’t believe in anything enough. I don’t have a real cause. A crusade of passion. There’s no banner over my head proclaiming my intentions of joy. I’m just another jackass in a crowd of jackasses do jackass things to pass the jackass time until I get old and impotent.

             Yet I persist in the exploration of mediocrity. A continued hunt for a job to sustain this bland and tasteless lifestyle I’ve somehow wound up in. Was it the way I was raised? Am I product of my environment? When did I lose faith? Who will believe in me when I can hardly believe in myself? A recycled recharge is needed.

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