17 May 2012

The American Dream

theoretically, I am living the American dream. I have a full-time job, I own my own home, I own a car. I have a dog, and a cute little fence around the yard. I have my Mr. Sunshine. I am graduating from college.

Somehow, it doesn't feel like everybody seems to think it should.

Everybody keeps telling me how important it is, how big a deal it is, that I am graduating college. I keep hearing how important it is that I participate in the graduation ceremony. I'm participating, but only because everybody else wants me to do so. I just want the fucking piece of paper to hang on my wall. (for the record, my mom doesn't understand what the big deal is. She agrees that the ceremony is not important. Don't try and change my opinion; you can't. I am participating. I'm just not doing it for me. I am doing it for everyone close to me, because I just want to shut them the fuck up about it. The party they're throwing? It isn't for me. It is for them. #thatisall)
(for the record, my degree is in spanish. I chose to major in spanish so that I could understand Pablo Neruda's poetry in his native language. true story.)

This American dream shit is horseshit. I am working to make money to pay my bills, which will become minimal as soon as we pay off this magic bus.
Let me go off on a tangent here: I say a tv commercial about the local "house for hope", where you buy a raffle ticket in hopes of winning this $350,000 house. The house is ugly. I told Mr. Sunshine that the house was ugly. He told me that these were people with different values than us. I understood.

I've been stewing in that shit, though.

I have a job. I like my job well enough. I'll like it better when I am comfortable performing my duties and quit fucking shit up. I don't like that my job, and my commute to and from my job, takes up all of my time and energy. I am tired. And the house needs cleaning. The laundry is backed up. The yard looks like Sanford & Sons are taking over.

The American dream. Get a job, buy a house, get a car, and drudge away to pay for that shit.

I reject the American dream. I say it is horseshit fed to us by marketeers for big bank and "the big three" (GM, Ford, and Chrysler) to justify their salaries and their existence.

Fuck this so called American dream.

I think that the meaning of life is to live it.

The meaning of life is to enjoy my existence.

(let's not get into the discussion about how human beings are an anomaly, not right now. we weren't meant to be, and if we were, it certainly wasn't so we could kill the planet with asphalt, concrete, steel, and greenhouse gases.)

The meaning of life is to enjoy this moment.

This moment cannot be enjoyed if I am a slave to the machine. This moment cannot be enjoyed if I am drudging away to make money to pay for shit that other people think I should have. This moment cannot be enjoyed if I am so tired that I don't care that I am sitting on the concrete, outside a truck stop, in Armani pants. (And I mean Armani; not his Le Collezioni bridge line, not his Emporio Armani line, not Armani Exchange, not Armani Jeans. Real Giorgio Armani.)

That is what the American dream has wrought in my life.

I am so behind on the laundry duties, and all of the other things that keep my life pleasant, that I am wearing the REAL Armani to work. I am so tired that I am not experiencing the joy of wearing REAL Armani; I am sitting on dirty concrete inhaling diesel fumes, in Armani.

I just want a day of running errands in my Manolos. My fucking feet, legs, and back hurt from the interminable days of wearing these ugly ass slip resistant flat heeled shoes.

I just want to roll in the floor and play with my puppy because it brings me joy, not because I feel guilty for neglecting her.

I just want to go grab a bite to eat with my Mr. Sunshine, and hold his hand while we walk to the car.

Whatever the American dream is, I'm not buying it.

I'll keep working my job. I want more Manolos. I want the joy of paying for them myself. I want more Armani. I want to pay for it myself. I want more Revo sunglasses, and I want to buy them for myself.

Sunshine wants more guns, or more night vision devices, or more something to hunt wild boar with. I want to help him obtain these things. (hell, he bought me my first pair of Manolos, I want to return the feeling.)

I'll keep working my job, because the more I contribute now, the sooner we pay off this magic bus. The sooner we pay off this magic bus, the sooner I can work less hours.

There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Our light just happens to be from a different source than the one we were supposed to be pursuing. And I am ok with that.

Now, I am off to find my copy of "veinte poemas de amor" and play with my puppy while we wait on Sunshine to get home.

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