Ghost Vaela

So I am trying to not be a ghost, or a failure. It’s hard when you struggle with depression and sickness and poverty and being young parents and trying to figure out exactly how humans are able to human.

That sounds like a cute, trendy phrase, right? “How do humans human?” But I am dead fucking serious.

HOW.
DO.
HUMANS.
HUMAN.

This life is so hard. Coming to terms with mortality, with your own weaknesses, with your flaws and bad parts and dark things and trying to just be a fucking HUMAN in this world of people who all seem to have it figured out – I don’t know where to start.

I can’t deal with a 9 to 5 job. My job is only working for me because they are very lenient on tardiness and leaving early and other such sporadic shit. Well, they are not that lenient. I actually got fired, and then I went back and I begged for my job back because it is literally the only job I have ever succeeded at, and I got it back somehow. I am still chronically late and I leave early because disability, but I mostly love my job.

But, I still fail to be a normal human. I cannot for the life of me get to work on time every single day, or make it through every single shift. I have no perception of time. I am surprised I haven’t been second-fired, although a recent pleasant drunken night at the bar with my coworkers let me know I have been in the crosshairs as of late. I will probably get fired soon. I don’t think I will ever be able to work normally until I write books or make art or candles or all of the above.

I just wish I could wake up with energy in my soul, with a bubbling of motivation that isn’t forced to fruition by drugs or herbs or whatever else. I wish I had the work ethic of my grandfather, who worked full time and went to school full time all so he could get an education because he had the energy and drive to do so. I just don’t. I know my family needs support, and we have to pay bills. But I cannot wake up every day by myself and go to a 9 to 5 job. It’s not even about being happy. I just can’t do it.

MILLENIALS, the old people cry. You lazy fucking cunts, think you deserve everything for nothing. Except it’s not like that. I was raised to think that work would be something I loved, like art or writing, and that it would all fall into place and I would create art and make money and everything would be fine. That is on YOU GUYS. You taught me to shoot for the stars, to want to have nothing less than my dreams, and yet you complain when we are poor and unable to adult at mind-numbing jobs that eat your soul and crush your spirit.

I don’t really know what I am going on about. Right now, I go to work every day and make $9 an hour OR commission, whichever is higher, calling random liberals and asking for help and mostly getting yelled at. The incredible selfishness and utter depravity of the hypocritical liberal has really disillusioned me, but that’s another story. I make a shaky wage calling people for money for decent causes and that makes me feel okay. But I wish I could just make art forever and ever and ever and live off of that, and I wish everyone else could, too.

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