Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Going Gangbusters.

Folks, I am giving up.

I have found that at this little bit of correspondence you and I shared over the past few years became more and more bleak, I could never really pin-point why.

It was this horrible event - these last few years - to get up and post something on this column or write about my days simply becasue i was being pulledby some evil force to think only the nasty and hateful things that were happening to me.

As my own mother was recapping how her hiatus to Las Vegas was this past week, she subtly sliped into the conversation how a pile of rejection letters from prospective jobs and internships had been pilling up over the past few weeks.

All of the last places I had bee nsweating over and worrying about. The fianl few newspapers that thought I might somehow make a difference, but in the end thought the better of it.

It was not like they were major papers either. They were out of the way places in far flung corners of the country. Fuck it, i suppose, they don't want me.

So, kids, I'm getting out. This is it. The fianl boarding call and the last call.

Now, now, dry those tears, young lad. This is not the time for a funeral for my journalism career. I have been told I am a wonderful PR hack and the university is looking to bolster its ranks a few at a time.

Or, who knows, working vicariously through college students to fulfill or discover what I missed in my four years might not be so bad. it took my attorney five years to fianlly figure out what he wanted.

I knew we had passed the point of no return Today when my own family started sending me things about how to get into grad school. Look at me, ma, MBA and all.

There is a sence of freedom in knowing what you dont want to do or can't do. Its one less avenue I will have to weirly walk down everytime I want to look beyond my own horizon.

It's the boulevard of broken dreams, so condem the whole structure and jsut get the hell out of the way of the blasting caps.

This is the end.

Not so much in a sence of goodbye forever, more like moving away to another town. We will still write and be friends - we jsut won't see eachother or spend time together anymore.

There are far to many thingsa out there that have yet to be discovered and i kept the damn blinders on all of my academic career.

Friday and the rest of the weekend took me by complete surprise. Maybe its time we get back to living like we used to in the past - Adventure was the key, not alcohol. Maybe I need to just quit being such a damn loser and ask this girl out again.

Either way, I have a few projects now. None of them include the damn Missourian and not one of them include a summer plan. I'm beinging to find comfort in this.

The lack of plan will be my last refuge.

Vegas will be my Alamo.

3 comments:

matt said...

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

And having just quoted Fight Club in the context of this, I'm going to go put myself in a blender.

Amanda said...

Actually I think Fight Club ripped that off from Buddhism, but whatever.

Quit your cryin about the real world. We're all so over your pre-quarter life crisis. There are 20 new jobs listed on journalismjobs.com every day. WOrking for PR U -- the worst PR job ever, by the way -- will be more soul-sucking than you can imagine. If you wanted the easy path in life, I doubt you would drink like you do. So quit whining. It'll happen.

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