thank god i’m moving

It occurs to me that lately I’ve been reading about life more than I’ve been living it. I sit on the green couch, motley, and read Vanity Fair – marveling at the fashions I can’t carry off and the politics I do not affect – and I can’t wait until I change.

I re-read this little internet diary and I have to say: I am disappointed in myself. All I write about is my job. And it’s not even a career – it is just a job, and I have allowed myself to become defined by it. The other day at work Roy asked me if it was true that I am leaving, and when I told him I was, he replied that while I was a good waitress, that was what is to be expected… The management cannot expect people to serve forever. And I don’t intend to.

There are people I don’t talk to anymore because we no longer have any common ground (this is alright, I think) because they settled into their lives early. I have gone out of my way to create personal struggle for myself, and what can I say to someone who in their mid-twenties has reached a holding pattern? Not much.

Not that I look down on those people… I realize my last few statements may seem condescending, but they’re not. In a way, I wish I would have taken other routes. Sometimes I dream what it would be like if I were just done, right now, and living my life. What if I had a steady rhythm and not just a constant fluctuation of flaming crescendo and crashing dissonance? Wouldn’t that be comfortable, like days spent wearing pajamas and watching movies and drinking coffee with lots of cream? Languid and sweet?

Only those days tend to disappointing. I like to think I love relaxation like everyone else, but does everyone else feel a sense of guilt and disappointment when the sun goes down and nothing has been accomplished?

I need more than life can offer me in San Luis Obispo I think. Thank God I’m moving.