Live from: my parents’ basement
I’ll set the scene. I’m sitting on the floor next to a pile of rusty dumbbells. I’ve had two (2) glasses of bottom-shelf Pinot Grigio. I’m wearing my grandfather’s old flannel and my legs are covered in bug bites. My Hot IT Boyfriend™ is drilling holes in every nook and cranny of my parents’ house in order to install a sound system. One hour from now, my parents will be blasting the BoDeans for all of The Village to hear, using the aforementioned sound system. I am sitting on the floor next to a pile of rusty dumbbells and I am, per usual, trying not to panic.
I quit my job, again.
I made a promise to myself that I would spare the past details here at The Village Idiot, however I feel it necessary to share the record shows that I am like, soooo good at quitting my job. I once worked at Barnes and Noble for four months and was consistently the top seller of membership cards (flex). Later, I worked at a car dealership for ten months where I aided in selling cars, being a 23-year-old actress working at a car dealership (for vibes), and evangelizing Olivia Rodrigo’s premiere album, SOUR. My most recent endeavor made it a solid nine months before the wind blew me elsewhere (back to my parents’ basement). Let it be known, Reader, that this is not because I lack dedication. I’ve written multiple novels. I once ran four miles on a whim. Junior year of college, my roommates told me that I would be The Alpha if I ate a heaping spoonful of mayonnaise, and I did it with no hesitation and later experienced heartburn for the first time. I’d probably do it again. I am a stubborn bastard at my very core—a trait I am always thanking my late grandfather for. I’d rather gnaw through my own wrist before admitting I’ve lost the keys to the handcuffs. But sometimes you get to the end of the tunnel and realize the light you were chasing was from an oncoming train. Or worse, a Best Buy past close in rural Missouri.
The problem is not dedication, Dear Reader, the problem is that I have dedicated myself to something other than a job or a company or the Barnes and Noble membership program (though it is, like, a really good deal). I have dedicated myself, not to being an actor, or a writer, or even a trophy wife. I have dedicated myself to ensuring never a day passes in which I am not relentlessly pursuing something that makes my skin buzz and my brain twist itself into knots. To this day, I truly believe it could be anything, but whatever it is, I haven’t found it yet. And Reader, hear me loud and clear; I will gnaw through my own wrist if that’s what it takes to find it.
Neither of us came here for a lesson, I know. We came here for sorrow and the inevitable giggles that sorrow always elicits. But neither you nor I can be sorrowful or giggle without acknowledging the incredibly annoying truth of the matter that we are not apathetic. We want. God, we want so much that it aches. We are constantly outstretching our arms, reaching for the stars, but getting our hands caught in ceiling fan. We are running from that midwestern Best Buy as fast as our untrained legs can carry us. We are deathly scared of what will happen if we stop.
So, Reader, I have quit my job again and I am, as always, afraid of the consequences. But we move on. We move forward. We move away from the speeding train and onward into the dark.
It is the only thing we know how to do.
XOXO
— The Village Idiot