NOTE: The Star-Herald has decided to stop allowing reporters to write columns. This is what I wrote for tomorrow’s column and would have run on Thursday, February 2, 2017. I normally have more links and photos in my stories, but I did not know until late Wednesday afternoon this column would not run in the paper. I’ve added links for the sites I could remember and could find again.
I’ve been driving around town for about a year with this playlist in my car. I don’t think I’ll be changing it anytime soon. It’s a good mix of different styles of music.
Fuck life. Fuck adulthood. Fuck being responsible. Fuck you if you hand handle a four letter word. No one asked you to read this fucking tirade.
Fuck diabetes and the fucking bullshit that goes with it. Fuck needles. Fuck insulin. Fuck half the paycheck that goes to keeping me the fuck alive. Fuck eating healthy and still being fucked over by the gene pool. Fuck never being able to eat anything unhealthy or risk the five fucking days it takes to recover. Fuck everyone who makes fun of you for the things you eat. Fuck the daily exercise that results in zero weight loss after three years. Why the fuck am I even trying?
If you visit the Star-Herald and are not a subscriber, you will be presented with a notice that you have 13 more stories to read before you will have to subscribe. You have just hit a soft, or metered, paywall. I don’t like paywalls. I circumvent them when I can and stop visiting a site if I can’t. Yet, paywalls are also a fundamental part of my place of employment.
Paywalls restrict the free flow of information. I want the most people possible to see my work. A paywall prevents that from happening. People tell me they would like to read my work, but can’t because they’ve hit the paywall.
Morning at the Scotts Bluff National Monument.
I’m tired of life’s interactions. I’m tired of the ruts. I’m tired of the expectations. I’m tired of wanting to do more, but mentally, cannot.
I’m tired and not because my iron levels will never be higher than the low end of normal. I’m not suicidal. I’m not depressed. But I am tired of the every day.
I’ve been working full-time since before I was a teenager. Doing what was expected of me, regardless of whether I felt it was fair.
I’m tired of never feeling like I fit in. I’m tired of worrying what will happen when I do.
I’m tired being on a budget. I’m tired from being tired and missing out while struggling to keep my head above the waters of doubt, rejection and negativity.
One day last week, I replied to a question at work and said a coworker had gone to get some coffee. Another coworker chuckled and asked me, “Did you just say ‘caw-fee’”? I did. Having spent roughly half my life in New York and the other half living in other states, I’ve lost most of what would be considered a New York accent. It usually only slips out when I’m angry. It’s rarely heard by anyone these days, but I suppose, to some extent, it will always be there.
Though I no longer live in New York, there are still several things anger me when people get them incorrect. It’s similar to what people from the South have to endure when it’s assumed they’re all related and married to their sisters or Nebraskans are all redneck cowboys chewing tobacco and worship the Huskers.
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