Back to Work, Yo.

“Back to wooork, back to wooork, to prove to the ‘rents I do more than lurkkk.” Sing it to the tune of “Back to school” from Billy Madison.

Well, tomorrow’s the day. I’m heading into New York to start an internship at a new video start-up. It’s been a while since I was in an “office” kind of setup, so hopefully I don’t trip and break a couple computers or pass out in the bathroom or do something else unfortunate. Onward and upward right? Perhaps if this goes well they will offer me a full-time job, but, hopefully, I will realize if an offer will come sooner rather than later seeing as it will cost me more to head into work then I will be receiving as a weekly stipend.

All over the world people pay money for the opportunity to work, so there’s no good reason why I shouldn’t be one of the same. It is a bit depressing that most people wouldn’t be able to work at this internship (or most internships) simply because they can’t afford to not have an income. And they definitely can’t afford to pay someone for the chance to work. So, I’m lucky in that respect, and hopefully my luck continues and I can move out of New Jersey and into the Big Time.

It’s difficult for me to keep my hands from shaking, I have too much energy to sit down and relax; I can’t sleep and I can’t turn off my brain. My mind constantly somersaults over dreams and ideas and hopes for the future – dipping down and flying high through the air recklessly. I fear nothing except a life of staticity. That cannot be. It must not be. I must move forward or die. I must move up or die. I must smash through the barriers of my cell or die. The options for escape are many, but there is only one way backward. I must remain diligent and refrain from slipping off that backward path and plunging deep into the ravine of insignificance. The fall won’t be quick – once I slip off the edge it’s a soft and slow decent into madness – and, at first, I may not even realize I have stumbled the wrong direction. But over time, a chill sweeps up inside my shirt and I find I cannot remember a time of warmth. By then it will be too late, and the ravine seems to recognize my air of defeat as it opens its mouth wide and lets me quickly drop to the bottom of the bottom of my hell.

But that is the future, or rather that is a future that I hope is nothing more than a terrible fantasy. So, I banish those thoughts to the deep well in the front yard, lock them deep inside and throw away the key. I wish they would leave me to find my way, but their screeches echo through the fields and the trees and the world hears and the world knows and the world turns to face me and to stare and to sneer at my puny attempts at barricading myself from myself.

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