“Fuck you. That’s my name. You know why, mister? You drove a Hyundai to get here. I drove an eighty-thousand dollar BMW. THAT’S my name. And your name is your wanting. You can’t play in the man’s game, you can’t close them – go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life: Get them to sign on the line which is dotted…That watch costs more than your car. I made $970,000 last year. How much’d you make? You see pal, that’s who I am, and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here – close!”

This is the movie clip my (soon to be ex) coworkers watch every morning.  And they believe every word of it. 

I find it sad that money is the only thing that matters to them.  They all have wives, girlfriends, one of them has a small daughter.  But they’re always here.  They’re always in the office.  And that’s fine – I can respect being passionate about your job.  Hell, I’m about to launch into freelance writing and I will be on it ALL THE TIME.  But I don’t mind, because I love it.  That’s my path.

The thing I have a problem with is their habit of demeaning anyone who disagrees with them.  It doesn’t make you a better person if you drove here in an $80,000 BMW.  Who. Cares.  You place value on someone because of their material possessions?  That speaks volumes about your character, e.g., you’re a SHITTY person.  I will bet all that money that you’re not going to be lying on your deathbed thinking, “Well, I sure am glad I worked so many hours and made all that money.”  You’ll be lying there, filled with regret, because you missed your daughter’s first steps.  She cried when you came home and picked her up because she didn’t recognize you.  But hey.  At least you made millions and had a nice house and a nice car.  That’s something.

If I ever become as shallow and money obsessed as these people, I want someone to put me out of my misery.  That’s no way to live – life is too short to be a rude asshole.  Get a grip.

So I’ll gladly drive my almost 10 year old Hyundai around, because I’m happy with my life, my (future) job – and I don’t measure my success by the number in my bank account.  I win.


Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Well, readers, once again the change has come, and I’m not talking about menopause.

The boy and I have parted ways; the only thing I really have to say about it is that life is strange.  You think you have it planned?  No, nothing ever happens the way you think it’s going to.  Nothing lasts forever; I’ve heard it said that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time, and sometimes prayers aren’t answered.  That’s life.

And so here we are again.  Life is wide open, every path is available to me.  I don’t know where I’ll be in a year, but 3 months ago I had no idea I’d be here, so I guess the plan is just to hold on for the ride.

I’m sad.  I’m confused.  I’m broken  But I’m also hopeful and ready for the future.  I said goodbye to him tonight, summoned my strength and cut all communication.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted to stay, forever, try to make him come back and love me.  But somehow, I knew I couldn’t do that anymore.  For the first time, I chose myself, and my life.

So for the first time in 7 years, his number is gone from my phone.  His name is gone from my Facebook page.  He will probably never be gone from my head (first loves tend to hang around, in a nostalgic sort of way), but he is finally gone from my life.  And for the first time in my adult life, it’s just me.

So join me, readers.  It’s time for the next phase, the future, my next step.  I’d love if you’d join me.