#the pay is shit considering they require at least a master's degree

[casual-eumetazoa]

Ended up not applying for it because the amount of stuff I read is just overwhelming. Oh well, on to the next stuff.

I randomly found a job offer for assistant editor in a science journal that is in my city, in English, and only requires a masters degree. It sounds perfect for me, only issue is that it's full time in office and idk if I won't burn out like, immediately, from sitting in an office for eight hours a day... it's also a half hour commute one way from my apartment.

On one hand it would be nice to have good money and stable employment, on the other I wouldn't have time and probably energy to do almost anything else if I would work full time. Do I wanna try? Or is it a recipe for disaster? Hell knows :)

[izzy-b-hands]

Shout out to my brain for the ridiculously realistic dream I more or less just woke up from (aka i had to scroll my dash for five mins and have a small cry before I could parse it all and Words it)

That had me working back at the library in ND and while it clearly still wasn't a perfect job

I was a page again. Making a little bit of money. Mostly left alone just to shelve things.

And I really wish my brain would do the best it can to forget that job bc:

-apparently no one hires for pages anymore

-this current job market/economy has minimal library jobs I'm qualified for anyway (tho personally, some of these like... don't necessarily need the claimed as required Masters degree. Like, there was a listing i saw a bit ago for one that was essentially a Reference Desk Aide job, and was more of money handling and general library work/customer service than any of the more specialised stuff like what actual Ref Librarians and Lead Circulation Librarians do, at least in my past experience in the field. Which means if not for them requiring the Master degree to even consider working at a library, I would at least be potentially eligible and qualified.)

-and the library in ND had ghosted me for a good month or more after interviewing earlier this year, before Shit Hit The Fan and we had to move me out to CT for my physical safety. So yeah, they'd wanted me in the past but. Not anymore, clearly. They probably consider it my fault for daring to quit their at the time very low paying job at the Circ Desk to work at the clinic during college instead (not exactly the worst mistake of my life but... it's Up There on the list. Maybe the library thru college would have been just as bad. Maybe not. I can't know now. If it would have helped, I would have told them in the interview how I wish i could have known how the clinic job would fuck me up more mentally and how much i do sometimes regret it.)

[larathia]

I wish people didn’t have this idea that by the age of 30 at latest you Must Have It All Together And Figured Out, because I seriously don’t know anyone under the age of 50 who has it Figured Out, and everyone over 50 mostly Figured Out that they truly don’t give a shit about quite a lot of things.

Here’s some randomish shit, from someone over 40, to all you Young Tumblrites. In no particular order.

* College used to be important. You’ll see it as a requirement on a lot of job listings, too, and that will double the pressure on you to go to college, and take on college debt. Let me tell you that the smarter thing to do is not in fact to go to college until you know what you’re going there for.  You know that whole “I have no idea what my major should be” thing? Yeah. It’s expensive. And the more college debt you take on the harder you’re making your life after college. And yeah, that’s deliberate. Generally speaking you’re at your most socially radical during your college years. Those interested in the status quo want you to be too scared to lose your job to poke your nose into the business of the world. Trust me when I say that will never, ever get better. It’s far better for you to just take a class here or there that looks interesting, work your part time job(s) - or full time if you can get it - while you figure out where you truly want to devote your energies. You don’t have to love your job, but it’s a lot better for your health if you don’t actually loathe every minute you’re doing said job. Waiting until you have a fairly solid idea what you want your degree to be in  - that sweet intersection of ‘what you like doing’ and ‘what you’re good at doing’ and ‘what you can get people to pay you for’ - will help you land in a field where you don’t give yourself ulcers by the age of 30.

* Your job is never going to love you back. It doesn’t matter how much unpaid overtime you put in. How many extra miles you go to. Your bosses will drop you like a plague ridden rat dropping the moment you’re considered more trouble than you’re worth, and the people who decide what you’re ‘worth’ in this equation do not, in fact, include you. You can love your job and enjoy coming to work every day and that’s great if you get it. But never forget that it doesn’t love you back, and you can’t make it love you back. Always remember where the exits are, and always always, as much as you possibly can (I understand. A LOT of jobs deliberately hinder the possibility of doing this BECAUSE it makes you able to leave a bad position) have an exit strategy in mind.

* And for the love of little gods, TAKE EVERY GODDAMN ONE OF YOUR VACATION DAYS. YES, EVERY YEAR. DON’T LET ANYONE GUILT YOU OUT OF IT. And if they try take that as a warning sign.

* Your 20s and your 30s are your ‘prime earning years’. You may have heard the phrase around. What it means, functionally, is that these are the years where your behavior and your skills are weighed and judged. And, not unimportantly, your ambition. If you have not climbed the ladder into supervisory positions by the time you’re 40, the only way you’re going to be the boss is if you go into business for yourself. Even a minor supervisory role is important. Even if it’s in a job you hate, demonstrating that yes, you can run a group of people well is very important. If you have to change jobs to get a shot at supervising, do it. 

* Work-life balance is a bitch to master. Your 20s and 30s are your only real shot at doing so. You’ll be under a lot of pressure to devote all your ‘youthful energy and drive’ to your job. Don’t. Just don’t. That road leads to you marrying a coworker because you at least see them every day, and divorces when one or both of you change jobs, and looking up one day in your 40s and 50s and wondering where all the time went that you meant to do all those fun things in. It’s okay to get it wrong, everyone does, but don’t give up trying to get the hang of it. Your older self will be incredibly grateful. Having a job is never the same as living a life.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Five

Summary: College is kicking Nesta’s ass, so she goes to her T.A., Tomas, for some extra help. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Bittersweet Masterlist  Warnings: N/A

October

It was only a couple weeks into the fall semester, and it was already hell.

Nesta was drowning in schoolwork, whether it be essays or presentations or hour-long projects. She had exams every damn week, so she was at the campus library nearly every day – typically until the sun set and the stars emerged. But even then, her night was far from over. Nesta returned home only to catch up on the work she’d put off for her paid internship. Elain got in the habit of making Nesta tea and cookies when she returned from the library on those ruthless nights. And every damn time, Nesta would wrap her arms around her sister with thanks.

This was her routine for at least four days of the week. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Needless to say, she was fucking exhausted.

The worst part, though? Nesta’s grades were precariously low despite the countless hours she’d been putting in. And she knew exactly what was causing it.

It had been a month since her father’s death, yet Nesta was still waking up in her own sweat every morning after a nightmare involving him. Of him hanging on the edge of a cliff, begging Nesta to save him. Of her dad screaming at her to kill herself. Of her mother dragging Nesta into the other room as he watches idly by.  

Nesta had cursed herself for letting her father’s death affect her in this way. She’d never been one to grieve, especially not for so long. She preferred leaving it in the past. It was easier that way.

Thanks to her merciless professors, Nesta was forced to dedicate nearly all of her time to school, which forced her to neglect her internship. They required she edit ten pieces of work every week, whether it be self-published books, college publications, or online articles. Even though the internship was entirely online – a convenient bonus – she still didn’t have enough time to fulfill the weekly goals. Instead of editing ten works, she was barely scrapping by with five. She’d already received several angry emails from her boss threatening to fire her if she didn’t get her shit together.

And, well… Nesta didn’t get her shit together. On the last day of September, she received that fateful email.

Nesta Archeron,

I regret to inform you that we’ve made the difficult decision of letting you go from Scribner Editorial. While I understand you’re in the midst of earning your Master’s degree, we are looking for editors who can reach – or exceed – the necessary requirements. Unfortunately, you have been lacking in the past few weeks. It has caused other editors to pick up your slack and do more than what we ask for. We are sorry to see you go.

Sincerely,

Ressina Laurent Scribner Editorial

Nesta read and reread the email dozens of times before closing her laptop. Her head fell in her hands, her shoulders trembling with the weight she carried.

She stared out the window, the world a flurry of red, orange, and yellow. Nesta had worked so hard for this, and all for nothing. She couldn’t believe she’d fucked up such a prestigious internship. It’d paid surprisingly well, and that had been the only income she was receiving. Even with the paychecks from Scribner Editorial, Nesta’s financial situation was holding on by a thread. She had used the money her father had passed down to her to pay off the remaining student loans she owned. Her family never had much money and when it was split in three, it didn’t make much of a difference.

Just like that, Nesta no longer had a job.

Fuck.

Within ten minutes of receiving that email, she was already browsing online for job opportunities. Nesta didn’t care what it was, as long as it put steady income in her pocket. There was no way she would be able to finish school without a job.

But unfortunately, after an hour of job hunting, Nesta came up empty handed. The only person who was hiring was the large grocery store downtown. They were looking for a cashier. And there was no way in hell Nesta would even consider working there. She’d seen the crowds they got on weekends. The work were incessantly forced to talk with rude, invasive customers. Nesta was far from the realm of customer service.

Nesta was down to her last resort. She didn't give herself another second to overthink it as she picked up her phone from her desk and texted Feyre.

I was just fired. You know of any job openings in the area?

Nesta sat by her phone for a couple minutes until Feyre deigned to respond.

The only one I know if is Rita’s, the local bar. They’re looking for a bartender, have been for months.

Nesta nearly snorted out her coffee when she read the text. Feyre had to be kidding. Nesta, bartending? There was no way in hell she could be a halfway decent bartender – anyone who’s ever met Nesta knew that. She didn’t possess the charm nor the patience, and she certainly couldn’t deal with drunken men who leered at her all night. In Massachusetts, she'd had her fair share of hook-ups, men and women alike. It was night after night of mindless, drunken sex. But then she'd grown up.

Nesta looked back at the soft glow of her computer screen. There had to be something, right?

----------------------------------

Wrong.

After scrolling through hundreds of websites with job opportunities (or lack thereof), Nesta collapsed on her bed. She checked the time to find that it was nearly one in the morning. Rubbing her face, she let out a low groan. Tomorrow was Monday. Gods, why did tomorrow have to be Monday? She was so exhausted that she was feeling physically ill: sore throat, cough, stuffy nose. The urge to skip classes tomorrow was tempting.

But Nesta knew she wouldn't skip. What would she do? A whole day to herself and a head full of intrusive thoughts. The perfect ingredients for a panic attack or two.

Her gaze fell to the small stack of bills she had yet to pay – that she couldn’t pay. Bills that would only grow.

With that thought in mind, Nesta cursed Scribner Editorial as she grabbed her laptop and searched ‘Rita’s’ on an open browser.

Then, she composed an email.

----------------------------------------

The next day, Nesta finally got around to contacting her Fictional Techniques teaching assistant. It was by far her most challenging class, and she despised the professor. A big chunk of her studying was dedicated to that course alone. And since she no longer had a job – for now – she finally had the time to meet with him for extra help.

His name was Tomas. He was notoriously known as the “Hardass T.A.” Nesta had heard her peers complaining about his grading on more than one occasion. It was common knowledge that he rarely gave students any feedback on their essays but when he did, it was brutal. It was practically unheard of to receive higher than a C from Tomas.

Nesta never got below a B+, though. And though she’d never spoken with him, Tomas always gave her detailed feedback on her papers, more so than any student.

So that afternoon, she emailed him.

Tomas –

           My name is Nesta Archeron and I am a student in a class you T.A. in, ENG-403 Section 003. I have a couple questions regarding the paper that was assigned on September 28th. Are you available to meet after class? It would be much appreciated.

Nesta –

           Thank you for contacting me. I would love to help you one-on-one. I’ve noticed the work you hand in, and it is spectacular. Your writing is sophisticated, and you have such potential. Coming from someone who has been in the publishing business for years now, I know several companies who would publish your work. Perhaps I can mention your name the next time I meet with them. How does tomorrow work? We can walk to the library together, maybe grab a cup of coffee (on me). Let me know.

Tomas –

           Thank you. That works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.

----------------------------------

“Don’t forget to finish up those essays! They’re due on October sixth, and I won’t be accepting anything that’s turned in late. Yes, Mr. Vanserra, I’m looking at you.”

Students snickered as they filed out of the lecture hall. Nesta grabbed her backpack and made her way down the stairs to the front of the room. Tomas had his own desk in the corner where he chimed in during class discussions.

He was already smiling at her when she approached.

“Hi, Nesta,” he greeted her. He was in the midst of packing his things. “Are you ready to head out?” She nodded.

Tomas had the charm of the boy next door. His dirty blonde hair was cropped short, eyes crystal blue, and he wore an easy smile. It was hard to imagine that this was the guy who gave students Fs for not having a cover page for their essay.

"Did you want to grab a cup of coffee?" Tomas asked her as they made their way out of the classroom. He shot her a smirk "Like I said, I'll pay."

Is he flirting with me?

Nesta prayed to the gods he wasn't. Sure, he was cute and all, but she had no interest in a relationship of any kind. Including a one night stand.

Perhaps I can use that to my advantage...

Nesta dismissed the thought immediately. There was no way in hell she would flirt with her T.A. to ensure a high GPA. She wasn't going to sleep her way to the top. That's not how Nesta did things.

A little flirting never hurt anyone.

She groaned inwardly and shut out that train of thoughts.

Tomas and Nesta chatted while they trudged to the library, backpacks full of textbooks in tow. Much to Nesta’s dismay, he fired question after question at her. Tomas asked about her family to which she miraculously deflected, about her journey to become a writer, and her ambitions. Luckily, Nesta was a pro at this sort of thing, so she simply responded to every question with a question of her own. Not the most subtle approach, but it worked.

The library was teeming with students when they pushed through the doors. Pryth U’s library was a sight to behold. Its foyer was ornate with hand-painted murals, the ceiling stretching far above them. They hopped on the elevator to the third floor. When the doors opened, Nesta inhaled the sweet scent of old books. The bookcases reached the ceiling, thus requiring a rolling ladder in every stack. When Nesta and Elain had toured the campus before the semester began, Elain was quick to jump on the ladder and sing “Be Our Guest.” Her voice was horribly off key. They both burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs until the librarian found and scolded them.

Nesta was pretty sure Elain hadn't stepped foot in the library since.

“Okay,” Tomas said, setting his belongings on a corner desk. He grinned at her. “Ready to be tortured?”

Nesta offered a less than enthusiastic smile. “Let’s do it.”

---------------------------------

After a couple hours of grueling studying, Nesta hurried to the coffee shop on campus. It was five o’clock and she hadn’t had a cup of coffee since the morning. If she didn’t get caffeine in the next ten minutes, Nesta wouldn’t function properly.

The meeting with Tomas went well; he was certainly a helpful resource to have. He'd even offered to meet with Nesta again to prepare for the next big assignment, to which she graciously accepted. There may have been batting of the lashes involved.

Nesta pulled her wool scarf tighter around her neck. Even with a peacoat and a hat, she was still freezing. She let out a sigh of relief when she entered the coffee shop, grateful for the inviting warmth.

That gratefulness disappeared when she looked at the line.

It was at least a dozen people long. Nesta let out a frustrated groan, managing to put a tamper on her anger and hauled her ass to the back of the line.

After a couple minutes of drooling over the scent of fresh coffee beans, she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind.

“Nesta?” a sultry voice asked. The familiar husk in her words had Nesta turning around to see Amren standing behind her. She was staring up at Nesta through her long lashes, a smirk playing on her face. Nesta couldn’t help but admire her feral beauty: chin length hair, angular face, dark and smooth skin, and exquisite makeup.

“Hi, Amren,” Nesta said blandly. “I didn’t know you attended Pryth U.”

“I don’t,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t last one week in college. This is the best coffee around, and I don’t mind driving twenty minutes out of my way.”

Another coffee snob. Interesting.

“I’m impressed that you even remember my name. I thought you always zoned out during the dinners.”

Nesta huffed out a laugh, and a hint of surprise flashed on Amren’s face. It was gone a second later.

“It’s tempting whenever Rhysand opens his mouth, trust me,” Nesta replied dryly. “But I have my ways.”

Amren’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

--------------------------------

That evening, Nesta strolled back to her apartment with a steaming cup of coffee and Amren’s phone number.

It was quiet when she unlocked the door, but the living room light was on. As Nesta dropped her heaving backpack and padded to the kitchen, she noticed Elain sprawled out on the couch, her nose buried in her phone.

“Did you eat already?” Nesta called out as she rummaged through the cabinets. She dug through a shelf for pasta, which was buried under Elain’s many baking ingredients.

When Elain didn’t answer after a couple seconds, Nesta poked her head into the living room. She was still scrolling through her phone, the faintest smile on her rosy face.

“Hello? Earth to Elain?”

Silence. Nesta groaned in frustration. Rounding the overstuffed sofa, she assaulted Elain’s feet with her hands.

Elain’s entire body jerked as Nesta tickled her, pained laughs escaping her mouth. Elain was easily the most ticklish person Nesta had ever met. It made it easy to get information out of her.

“Stop!” Elain gasped breathlessly, laughing all the same. “Please!”

Nesta ceded and raised her hands up in surrender. Elain scrambled off the couch and narrowed her eyes.

"What the hell, Nesta?”

“I was calling your name for a good five minutes,” Nesta crossed her arms. She nodded her head at Elain’s phone. “Anything interesting?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Nesta gasped.

“Is it a guy?” Her voice was threatening. Nesta had always been protective over Elain.

“A guy? No! That’s… that’s just ludicrous. Why would a guy… I mean -"

Nesta let her sister stumble over her words with amusement. She raised a brow. “Show me what you were looking at then.”

“That’s none of your business!”

Nesta gave her no warning as she leaped at Elain.

Elain squealed in surprise, trying her best to deflect Nesta's tickling. They wrestled on the couch, Elain trying desperately to get her phone out of Nesta's reach. But Nesta was taller and stronger.

“Gerroffme -"

“Just gimme -"

“Argh!”

"Ha!" Nesta stood up and held Elain’s phone in her hand triumphantly. Elain was glaring at her from the couch, her hair sticking every which way.

Nesta looked down at the screen to see the Instagram app open. Then, she read the name of the account.

“You’re stalking Azriel?”

“No! I was just following him.”

All Nesta had to do was give her a stern look.

“Okay, fine," Elain threw her hands up. "I think he’s cute. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Nesta glowered, “I’m not happy. He’s basically Rhysand’s brother. I'm not letting another one of those boys seduce my sister.”

“Seduce?!" Elain choked. She shook her head. "They’re best friends! And what does it matter anyway?”

Nesta shot her a leveled stare. “Rhysand’s an asshole.”

“He’s just protective over Feyre,” Elain explained incredulously. “Like you are of me.”

Nesta considered that for a moment. “Touché. But if Azriel hurts you -"

“Nesta!” Elain exclaimed, an exasperated laugh leaving her lips. “We’ve barely talked. I just think he’s handsome.”

“Does Feyre know?”

That got Elain's attention.

“You can’t tell Feyre.” Elain broke out her puppy face: wide eyes, pouty lips, knitted brows. No one in history had been able to resist her puppy face. Including Nesta.

She huffed out a laugh. “I may be a bitch, but I’m not that cruel.”

Elain threw herself at her sister and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you!"

After promising Elain she wouldn't tell Feyre about her crush for the tenth time, Nesta retreated to her room. She was just about to pull out her notes when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

I’m supposed to go on a date with this guy tonight, but I just met a hotter guy on my way home. Will you judge me if I ditch the first one?

Nesta looked at the phone number.

Amren.

She could help but let out a small laugh.                              

When in doubt, pick both.

Both?                                                                                        

Both.

Damn, Nesta, I didn’t realize how savage you are.

A couple moments later, another text came in.

Both is good.

---------------------------------

tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged):

@sjmships @sleeping-and-books @sirgwaines @books-for-sure @blowing-mikey @b00kworm @wineywitch202 @drielecarla @liquifyme @gisellefigue08 @iammissstark @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @loysydark @superspiritfestival @stardelia​ @sayosdreams​ @maastrash​ 

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Can you do hearcannons of Jaskiers, Geralts and Valdo Marx Kinks? I don't mind detailed descriptions ;) (Sorry if you don't do hearcannons, ignore this then )

Jaskier

Our boy is a generous lover and that means he is very into going down on people. Whatever your genitals he will happily put his mouth in, on, and around them and delight in the sounds you make

He is also a very ambitious, driven individual so I see him being determined to score high on your list of lovers. He may not ask you who your best lover has been but he puts you through it till he feels confident in his abilities and knows that he did his level best

This poor bard is often treated as a bit of a punchline and isn’t always given the respect he’s due. A deep need to feel in control combining with a deep drive to please others is a beautiful combo for a dedicated Dom imho

He’s not as into degradation, preferring to praise and validate in the ways he wants to be praised and validated oh no I made it sad but he does not shy away from dirty talk. So he’s going to tell you how beautiful you are and how good you are but it’s going to sometimes be how beautiful you are gagging on his cock or how good you are at taking it like the dirty slut you are

This is not a unique headcanon but the man has stamina and though he’s a mere human so he may not have Ever Boners like some witchers do, he prioritizes his partner’s pleasure because it’s a big part of his own and because he is a Gentleman and whomever he’s with will come before him at least once (refractory periods for his penis-possessing lovers considered)

He will try most anything at least once though there are likely some hard-limits he has and if he’s tried something and it went poorly he’s hesitant to try it again (but will probs still try because fuck YOU wax play, you’re not the boss of me and sure I gave that nice gentleman’s balls a second degree burn and nearly fainted from the sight but I WILL master you damnit)

Doesn’t enjoy blindfolds as much because he wants to see the look in your eyes and make you watch what he does to you, especially if it makes edging hard (and it absolutely will)(the scamp)

He will finger you like a lute and you will sing as sweetly as any instrument he has ever graced with his nimble touch

Geralt           

Unpopular Opinion maybe but I don’t see Geralt as being super kinky. I mean, the dude fucks, but I think he likes to be efficient

Now, efficient doesn’t mean quick! Or boring! Not everyone is a Kink Machine and that is valid and you can still be an excellent lover without tricks and toys! I think Geralt also takes pride in his work and gets off on making his partner come really hard

On the spectrum of Dom to Sub I see Geralt sliding more Sub because if you spend every waking moment of your life having to be in complete control and aware of everything around you, can you imagine the relief of getting a break? I don’t think he gets to indulge in this often because that requires a fuckton of trust and that’s not something that comes easily to Geralt. He has 100% let Yen Dom him though

You better bet your ass this man’s ass gets fucked sometimes and tbh he dares you to say any shit about it so he can laugh in your face about your sad bigotry inspired apprehensions because while you were out there studying the blade he was in here getting his prostate bodied by a mage

Though he is a Consummate Professional he has been known to engage in some semi-voyeuristic sexual acts because sometimes you just don’t have the time to go to the inn and also sometimes there are Needs y’know?

Will NOT fuck in front of Roach, though. She is a LADY and he will NOT have her see that!!! Plus he doesn’t want her to give him shit later and he knows she will and he’ll deserve it

Worries about hurting people with his strength and may need a little coaxing to get a little rougher but he can be coaxed!!! It just isn’t his default, y’know? Usually a tender lover, especially at first when he’s still getting to know you/your body

Aces at going down on a vagina and thinks anyone who doesn’t do that is a chump I was gonna reference drinking his respect women juice but not everyone with a vagina is a woman and not every woman has a vagina ya know?

Valdo

Oh man. Valdo Marx. What to say, what to do.

If Dionysus were reincarnated into human form, that’s Valdo Marx. He has the arrogance of a god but also the skill to back it up (sexually and musically) and he revels in hedonism

I think he’s a classy hedonist usually tho? Like he will have a bacchanal but please take your shoes off because this marble was imported from Cintra and you don’t pay those export taxes just to walk all over it willy nilly and get scuff marks on it but also please do fuck on my stairs, part of the reason I paid extra for this marble is it feels wondrous on one’s backsides

He will try anything thrice, no matter how the first experience went. Sex is a buffet and he’s here to get his money’s worth

I think he is a genuine Switch being able to fulfill either Dom or Sub roles with aplomb. He enjoys the trust both positions require as well as the skill and loves to find new ways to perform in both roles to fit his partner’s interpretation of their own part

Valdo Marx is that dude who has a copy of the Kama Sutra and has Opinions about which positions are just stupid and which ones need to be introduced to common Fucking Canon

Appearances are very important to him so the only thing I see him balking at a smidge is voyeuristic stuff but that doesn’t mean it’s off the table, it just means that it’s not something that gets him as jazzed as when he knows he has the time and space to really go for it without worrying that some stuffy lord is going to see and cancel a performance

Chaotic Pansexual

Loves to be degraded. I’m talking spit on me, slap me, call me a filthy songbird, all of it. He knows he’s an asshole and he revels in it and likes it when you’re angry (sometimes to the detriment of his relationships)(only so much makeup sex can happen before it’s We’re Done sex and he is still learning that fine line, bless him)

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Elliot x reader where the reader and Elliot work together and at one point are kinda forced to make small talk and at first it's really awkward and embarrassing and just ANXIETY but as they kinda keep the conversation going forcefully they sorta relate to each other (ok thanks I love your writing happy late St Patrick's day 💚☘️)

I LOVE THIS REQUEST. And I LOVE YOU, Anon 💚

“Alderson. Y/L/N. I want you to run penetration tests on Friday’s network patches. Shouldn’t take you more than a day or two, depending on what you find.”

The sterile-white meeting room suddenly felt about 10 degrees hotter than it had a moment ago, and when you moved your hands from the table to your lap, you noticed the remnants of a foggy imprint left behind on the cool surface. You swiped at it, hoping no one noticed, least of all your new partner.

No one wanted to get paired up or put on a team with Elliot Alderson.

He was quiet, sometimes twitchy, always unapproachable, and went out of his way to take up an indiscriminate amount of space in the office. Granted, you weren’t a social butterfly, but you did say your required good-mornings and good-nights, understanding that this was a social expectation and if you adhered to it, people accepted you. Acceptance was nice. It was normal.

So, you played the game, but only when you left the office behind did you really breathe. You knew that it generally took about 30 minutes, door to door, before you were home in your quiet, cozy apartment, wrapped up in what you called your “introvert’s paradise.”

You often wondered if Elliot was the same. Well, you knew he definitely was not the same considering the great lengths he went to avoid human interaction, which led you to believe there was a lot more going on behind those grey eyes than he’d care to let anyone know.

Ah! And there was the rub.

Elliot Alderson may have been strange, but he was attractive.

During these meetings, you always found yourself wishing for something that later made you feel guilty—you wanted him to talk. It was obvious he hated to speak in front of any gathering larger than, well, 0, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hoped your boss would need his input, which he often did. Another thing everyone knew was that Elliot Alderson was the smartest person in the room.

Yet another reason why your palms were now sweaty as you gathered up your laptop, notebook, and pen and chased after Elliot.

He was always the first one to leave a meeting.

By the time you crossed the office, Elliot was already settled at his computer, his fingers working to push in his earbuds. Before he could get the left-side in, you appeared in his line of vision.  

He stared at you, his lips parted, and had you known better, you would have thought he was a statue, perhaps a modern art piece, titled: “Startling Your Co-Worker in the Age of Digital Communication.”

You weren’t expecting him to be completely unaccepting of your presence, but maybe he wasn’t even listening during the meeting.

“Hi, Elliot.”

After several heartbeats passed and you were bordering into the territory of awkward, he lowered his left earbud and said, “Hi.”

Nothing. He wasn’t going to say anything else.

Alright, the conversation would have to be carried entirely by you.

“Uh, so … the penetration tests?”

Elliot looked at you like he had never seen you before—and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he didn’t even know your name. You had never worked on a project together before, but you had talked during meetings. You passed each other in the elevator, around the office—an office of only about 25 people.

Again, nothing.

“Listen—do you, like, even know who I am?”

Elliot blinked, his large grey eyes disappearing for a moment, and in that moment, you felt a sense of relief. Making eye contact with Elliot was like being scanned by the TSA.

“Y/N,” Elliot answered, his voice low and flat. “You—”

And then he cut himself off, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes scanned your face before settling on the edge of his desk.

“Okaaay,” you said slowly. “First name basis, established. Were you paying attention during the meeting? I mean, I zone out sometimes, too, because Gary’s an asshole, but he assigned us to—”

“Run penetration tests on Friday’s patches,” Elliot said in a mumbled rush.

“Right. Yes. So, I guess you’re the master of penetration—oh my god,” you said as a blush of mortification crept up your neck.

As soon as the words, “master of penetration,” left your mouth, Elliot looked up and his eyes had doubled in size while his lips once again parted. He pulled his lower lip in, biting at it before he swallowed, watching you with what you could have sworn was amusement.

Amusement … or pity.

“I meant that everyone knows you are the best white hat here,” you said slowly so as not to put your gigantic foot back in your idiotic mouth. “It would be foolish for me to look for the vulnerabilities when you are the better hacker.”

“Okay,” came Elliot’s monotone answer.

Okay?!? your mind was screaming. Not a giggle, not a ha-ha-ha, Y/N, I understood what you meant, no big, break the ice, let’s be friends.

Nope.

Just … Okay.

It was clear that Elliot was going to do absolutely nothing to quell your anxiety, so fuck the attempts at small-talk.

With a determined raise of your chin, you sat down next to Elliot and opened your laptop. You could feel him shift a little away from you, and you tried not to take offense. There was already enough space to fit two people between you, but if he wanted more, okie-fucking-dokie.

“Go ahead and remotely access my laptop, I’ll split screen so I can watch you code while I document the data. Just tell me when you find a flaw so I’m sure not to miss anything.”

Before you had even finished speaking, your screen was mirroring Elliot’s. You quickly split the screen and got a doc ready to record the data.

You looked over at Elliot who had his fingers poised over the keyboard; he was peripherally watching you, so as soon as he saw you glance at him, he started working.

Time passed slowly, awkwardly as you sat side-by-side without saying a word. At first, there really was no need to talk, you figured, but normally, most people needed a break from their screen to at least stretch and blink.

Apparently, Elliot was more robot than man.

“Hey!” you said, making Elliot jump, his keystrokes faltering.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, embarrassed again.

Elliot shrugged his shoulders and went back to typing, but you weren’t done.

“Well, wait a minute,” you said, his keystrokes faltering again.

“You found and fixed a flaw without telling me—that was the first one, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the point of me documenting is that we, ya know, talk about it.”

“Why?”

You turned your body toward him and blinked a few times.

“Because … we have to put this in layman’s terms for the analyst? Didn’t you ever wonder what the next step was after the penetration and documentation?”

“No,” Elliot said, finally turning a quick glance in your direction.

“Give me a second,” you said, quickly typing in your document.

Elliot stayed perfectly still, his fingers hovering over his keyboard.

“Alright—read over this and make sure it’s correct.”

Elliot glanced at you again before scooting in his chair about an inch closer in your direction. You suppressed a laugh and turned your laptop toward him so he could more easily see.

Then, Elliot chuckled. The most ridiculous excuse for a laugh huffing out of his mouth for a nanosecond before he snapped it shut again.

“What?”

“You misspelled ‘penetration.’”

You furrowed your brows and slid your laptop closer and a small laugh bubbled up from your throat.

“Good god,” you said through your giggle. “I blame you for that.”

Elliot shrugged his shoulders, but you caught the faintest hint of an upturn of his lips. It couldn’t be called a smile, much like his laugh couldn’t be called a laugh, but it was something human.

You resumed your work, but this time Elliot did pause when he found a flaw. Communication became easier and you found that the workday was starting to fly by.

“Hey! Did you see that?” you interrupted, but this time you didn’t startle him.

“See what?”

You reversed the direction of the code and watched as the screen recreated the last few lines Elliot had run.

“There!”

“Shit … I mean. Shoot,” Elliot said, flustered. “I missed it.”

You chuckled, “See? I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

Elliot stopped and turned his chair toward you, his intense gaze locking your eyes onto his.

“I don’t think you’re dumb.”

You rolled your eyes and said through a shy smile, “Of course you do. You’re Elliot Alderson. God of hacking.”

Elliot tilted his head, almost like a dog when it was listening to its owner.

“God of hacking?”

You turned your chair to face him, your expression serious.

“You’re the most intimidating person in this office, Elliot.”

“That’s a nice way to say people don’t like me.”

“People just don’t know you. You’re . . . ” you trailed off, unsure if this was a conversation Elliot wanted to have, but he was still looking at you, eyes focused and head slightly tilted.

“You don’t say good-morning … or good-night. You don’t speak unless spoken to. It’s like,” you paused for a moment to think, “it’s like you run a different daily program than everyone else.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes falling and his hands smoothing over his thighs, rubbing back and forth in a repetitive, nervous motion.

You reached out to comfort him and just with the tip of your finger on the top of his hand, you pressed for no longer than a second.

Elliot looked up at you.

“Try it sometime. Say good-morning. I’ll even let you practice on me,” you said with a sweet smile.

And, to this day, you’ll never forget that Elliot smiled back. And when he smiled, you felt your heart flutter. He wasn’t just a good-looking guy—he was beautiful.

“Ready to run some more tests?” you asked, feeling shy all over again but for an entirely different reason.

“I am the god of penetration,” Elliot deadpanned, his lips quirking into a grin as you groaned, but suddenly turning to correct him.

“I said master of penetration.”

“I know,” said Elliot, his voice containing the smallest hint of coquettish laughter.

Your mouth popped open in surprise before you shut it, shaking your head and grinning to yourself.  

[violetsystems]

#personal

I deposited my first check for my business yesterday at the bank.  I had to go to the teller because it’s an entirely different account.  They repeated the name back to me off the check and asked me if I wanted a balance.  If you look at my life from the right perspective everything seems amazing.  Truthfully, they say the American dream is owning your own business.  They say a lot of dumb shit about America.  Now more than ever.  Which is why it’s nice sometimes to stick around in a neighborhood and let people battle it out in terms of what they think of you.  It’s been about ten months of insane isolation.  I spend most of my time at home alone with my cat.  I talk to my parents every so often but nobody really else intimately.  Other than here.  I live in a city so it’s impossible to be alone once you leave the house.  I sometimes think that’s a hard balance to maintain.  It gets easier over time the less I worry about the outside world.  I know it’s hard to when you live on a planet in the middle of a dense, dark universe.  But these days I pay more attention to space in the news more than anything.  I just bought a few things for my business to experiment with.  A mini drone to learn Python with.  I flew it out on the porch for a few seconds until my neighbor poked their head out.  Everybody out here is always in everybody else’s business.  It’s almost a reflex.  Oddly enough when I fly it indoors my cat just rolls her eyes at it.  I’ve been continuing to apply for jobs and maintain a presence on the job sites.  But everything whiffs in such a weird way.  It’s like I’m invisible until I’m out on the street.  Then it’s everyone wasting my time and energy trying to project some secret messages or agenda.  It’s laughable at this point.  You’d think after years of fucking with somebody on a guerilla level you’d bother to at least acknowledge them with more than a glare.  And yet people can’t be bothered to be kind or understanding.  There’s not enough of it in the world.  So when you walk that path, everyone has their hand out.  Everybody expects it’s a given that we’re all in this together.  When it comes to my physical address behind closed doors most assuredly this is not true.  But considering my business address and my residence are one and the same right now, it’s not too hard to know I’m painted in a corner.  I don’t have friends that even check on me to see how I’m doing other than here.  Everybody in this city is too caught up in a lie or afraid of being exposed.  I can confirm this by simple math.  The people I still keep up with are business transactions at best.  There’s an icy veil between that where you get this feeling you aren’t welcome into any real social circle anymore.  This feels even worse applying for jobs in this city.  I just got out of a twenty year employment opportunity where you get to work with your friends.  Only to find ten months after being let go, none of those people were my friends.  I personally at this point care more about making money than friends.  The teller is friendly enough when they stare at my account from behind the screen.  It’s a nightmare to think over two years ago my life was quite the opposite despite having it all.  Dream jobs are in the past now.  Everybody’s godson is their own personal cybersecurity officer.  The nerds got rid of their IT managers and are locked in their bedrooms on zoom with their cameras off.  I’m more excited about drones on Mars and autonomous delivery.  And I still see no future for me here, there or everywhere.

The biggest lesson for me has been about validation.  There is a point when what you want to do isn’t the clearest road.  I’ve had my share of friends doubt who I wanted to be or become.  I’ve cautiously shared things about my life I couldn’t put into words only to have my concerns gaslighted or dwarfed for the main narrative.  People who lie are really good at one thing.  Continuing to lie.  When I catch people in lies, it makes me angry.  Mostly because the one thing I’ve always tried to do was be transparent, accountable and real.  The way I see America when I walk out my door is severely broken.  A thousand fractured narratives clashing together in selfishness.  I try to keep the peace and bridge things together as best I can.  But I’m no politician.  I’m not even an activist.  I’ve been duct taping my life together for almost a year only to realize everybody else’s is far worse off.  Social distancing through the plague has brought me to extremes.  It helped me distance myself from years of my life I’d been caught up in.  And yet now I find myself caught up in a city rather than a suburban area I crawled out from years ago.  College is so far away.  I actually took masters level courses in Psychology.  I wanted to go into artificial intelligence.  I settled for data analytics and human resources.  Never really did much with that degree other than learn how to spot crazy.  I don’t have any student loans to trade for leverage with an employer.  Everybody follows me around and talks behind my back to the point where I wonder if employers have a red flag tabbed on my LinkedIn profile.  The shit I have seen done with my life is so fucking amateur that people would rather erase me than confront the problem.  And therein lies the lesson.  You have to validate yourself.  Believing in yourself and walking away from the table is a tough thing when everyone negs you to think less.  But there’s a point when my Viking roots throw caution to the wind and I tell the world I’m done.  I’m sure my Gyspy roots concur.  Not sure about the Bohemian side.  I think here is the hidden key to Nationalism.  Everybody falls back on their shallow gene pool for comfort to ease the cognitive dissonance of society being a chaotic fuck show.  Primitive thinking that can’t evolve beyond pattern recognition.  The things I’m supposed to be proud of are very finite to me.  They don’t span generations or even decades.  The last ten months has been the most bleak and soul churning I have ever experienced.  And I experienced it quietly with my family and my real friends in a weird sort of intimacy.  And even my parents don’t really know what goes on with me too deeply.  There’s a point when you have to be your own person.  And some people can’t break free and stand on their own too without fear or pain.  So they’d rather fall back into a crowd.  Where they can stop being judged, negated or feel unsure about where they stand.  That is a crutch.  Sometimes the world is so hurt you need something to stand on.  And sometimes the bones heal you back all gnarled and distorted.  You look inward and all you feel is hate.  And that hate isn’t you.  It’s not a good thing to be angry all the time.  And yet I feel it too.  More so these days when I let myself get angry over things and people outside my control.  The people outside my door don’t ever validate me in a way that’s dignified or respectful.  And that says a lot about the world in general versus how I choose to live.  The real lesson I’ve learned is that this is the way it is.  If you want to change it, you must start with yourself.  And there’s some things you can’t change.  The hell of other people trying to intrude and muscle in on your place on this planet.  

It’s hard to love yourself when everyone else is judging your every move.  It makes you think there is something wrong with you.  And the world is always looking for something to point it’s finger on.  We’re all being judged.  We’re all under duress.  We are all paranoid looking over our shoulder.  I should know because I catch someone with a knowing look out my periphery every ten or fifteen seconds.  That’s a lot to subconsciously prepare for every day I want to live my life.  And yet I know there are people who are simply continuing to live through a lie.  To be further manipulated away from controlling themselves.  The reactionary bullshit in America serves a dual purpose.  Thinning out the herd.  We are so caught up in headlines we never read the fine print.  We are enraged, huddled together through protest and then led further down the rabbit hole with no end in sight.  We complain about government but can’t name a single piece of legislation other than guns that have saved our freedom.  I’ll name one for you.  The CARES act.  We know everything about everyone every second of the day but have never even asked anyone’s name.  And you can seek out that whirl wind circle jerk of group hugs and prayer circles all you want.  People are still just going through the motions.  Saying the right things to avoid confrontation even if it means blatantly warping the truth.  Ask anybody I used to work with.  I would ask them for you but they pretend I’m fucking dead.  And this was how it was supposed to feel I gather.  I was to be taught a lesson.  Freedom isn’t free.  It did teach me a lot about life.  Mostly that I’m not really sensitive to anything other than my own ethics.  There’s things I don’t do.  And these things are observed and never clarified.  I live in a silent void of rumor, legacy and shadow.  I’m living that life you people brag about in public.  Whatever that life is I’m not even quite sure.  I’m terribly alone in all of this and not at the same time.  And it requires me to have confidence enough to simply and effortless believe I’m worth it.  Like some vicious game of poker.  I’m all in at my own kitchen table.  I have no dreams left other than to be free.  And maybe to learn Premiere editing 4k drone videos in my spare time.  I don’t really fucking know anymore what to do other than to continue to not humor anyone’s dumb ass bullshit.  And to be real, this entire experience has taught me firsthand how worthless and fucked up my past is here in America.  Everybody wants some shame to hold over you so you stay a bargain.  Everybody wants to roast you and take your shine so they can look mediocre next to you at best.  Everybody wants to bring everyone down to their level regardless if it’s legal, civil or ethical.  And yet when you do the same, you understand what the problem is.  I’ve walked the walk for years and everybody can’t stop talking their shit.  Now people have run out of bad things to say.  So they either pretend I’m a ghost or speak like I’m some urban legend.  And thinking too much into that can drive an intelligent person insane.  Which is why knowing what I know I stay out of everything completely.  Even when I don’t you can see how much it drags me down to humor it all like a good sport.  These people out here do not play fair.  They never have.  And the only winning move is not to play.  I learned that from Wargames years ago.  Everybody wants to be a hacker now.  If you learn one thing from Hackers the movie.  The M1 is here to stay.  And never try to hack a gibson.  That’s the only ICE you have to fear when it comes to crossing my path.  Flatline your shit and leave you staring at the ground awkwardly with your well meaning intrusive bullshit.  End of line.  <3 Tim

[carcino-generic]

HOW HUMANS ARE HAVING THEIR LIVES RUINED BY KARKAT VANTAS

[plain text]

ALRIGHT, HERE’S THE BASICS OF CAPITALISM FROM A WORKING CLASS AMERICAN. I WANT TO START OUT BY SAYING I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT EUROPE, CANADA, AUSTRALIA, OR ANY OTHER “FIRST-WORLD” COUNTRIES. I DON’T KNOW WHO TORIES ARE AND I DON’T CARE ABOUT EMMANUEL MACRON. FOREIGN AFFAIRS ARE NOT MY CUP OF TEA THANKS. I HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITH DOMESTIC POLITICS. ALSO DON’T GET ON MY ASS ABOUT CALLING IT AMERICA INSTEAD OF THE U.S.A., CANADIANS DON’T ACTUALLY WANT TO BE AMERICANS AND IF THEY DO THEY’RE MORONS FOR REASONS THAT WILL BECOME CLEAR AS YOU READ ON. 

YOU KNOW HOW IN A NORMAL SOCIETY, TRADE IS DRIVEN BY RESOURCES AND PRICES ARE DETERMINED BY THE AVAILABILITY, COMPLEXITY, AND DIFFICULTY IN PRODUCTION OF A PRODUCT? SO IMAGINE YOUR COUNTRY GETS ENOUGH MONEY, POWER, AND SHEER BLIND DEVOTION FROM ITS CITIZENS TO THROW ALL THAT IN THE GARBAGE, AND THEN IMAGINE THAT EVERYONE CAPABLE OF MAKING MEANINGFUL CHANGES AT A FUNDAMENTAL LEVEL, WHILE REMAINING WITHIN THE CURRENT SYSTEM, IS OWNED BY SOMEONE WHO BENEFITS EGREGIOUSLY FROM EVERYTHING STAYING THE SAME, AND EVEN MORE EGREGIOUSLY FROM THINGS BECOMING WORSE. NOW IMAGINE THAT WHEN I SAID “SOMEONE” I MEANT “ONE OF MAYBE FIFTEEN MEGA-CORPORATIONS THAT OWNS EVERY OTHER BUSINESS IN THE COUNTRY,” AND WHEN I SAY “EVERYONE CAPABLE OF MAKING MEANINGFUL CHANGES...” I MEAN POLITICIANS WE ELECT TO PRETEND TO REPRESENT OUR INTERESTS WHO HAVE IN REALITY BEEN BOUGHT OUT BY CORPORATE INTERESTS AND RISK LOSING THEIR JOBS IF THEY MAKE LAWS THAT THREATEN THOSE CORPORATE INTERESTS’ BOTTOM LINES. BASICALLY, WE INVESTED ALL OUR POWER INTO PRIVATELY OWNED MONEY SINKS AND FORGOT TO CARE ABOUT THE THINGS THAT MATTER, LIKE THE ACTUAL CITIZENS? OKAY THIS IS GETTING AWAY FROM ME, WE MIGHT HAVE TO START FROM THE BASICS. 

I DON’T KNOW HOW YOUR SOCIETY WORKS, BUT IN OURS, YOU START OUT AS A LITTLE BABY. AS SOON AS YOU’RE PHYSIOLOGICALLY CAPABLE OF EXISTING FOR CONSECUTIVE HOURS WITHOUT THE PEOPLE WHO RAISED YOU, THEY SHOVE YOU IN A CLASSROOM AND START FEEDING YOU A MIXTURE OF COLONIAL, PSYCHOLOGICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, AND POLITICAL PROPAGANDA. THAT’S ALSO WHERE THEY TEACH YOU HOW TO SOCIALIZE WITH KIDS YOUR AGE AND SHIT. FOR SOME KIDS IT’S THE *ONLY* PLACE THEY CAN LEARN TO SOCIALIZE, BECAUSE THEIR PARENTS ARE TOO BUSY, ABSENT, OR PROTECTIVE TO BRING YOU OUT TO INTERACT WITH PEERS. EITHER WAY, THIS IS WHERE KIDS FORM THEIR CONCEPTS OF BOTH PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS AND SOCIAL CONTRACTS. THE TRAUMA OF RACIAL AND GENDER PROFILING IS NASCENT HERE, BUT OH BOY IT INTERNALIZES QUICKLY. (MORE ON HOW PEOPLE OF COLOR, THE WAR ON DRUGS, AND PROFIT ARE ALL LINKED LATER ON, OR MAYBE JUST LOOK UP A VIDEO ESSAY ON IT IDK.) 

IT’S PRETTY MUCH THIRTEEN YEARS OF THIS SAME SHIT, ESPECIALLY THE PROPAGANDA BIT. KIDS GROW UP BEING INDOCTRINATED WITH THIS COMPLETELY WHITEWASHED VERSION OF REALITY, BELIEVING CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS* IS THE SHIT AND CAPITALISM IS THE ONLY EFFICIENT MODEL FOR MODERN SOCIETY. THEY’RE USUALLY TAUGHT ALL ABOUT WORLD WARS I AND II, THE VIETNAM WAR, THE COLD WAR, AND THE SPACE RACE, WHICH (BY UNEQUIVOCALLY POSING AMERICANS AS THE GOOD GUYS AND THE SOVIETS AND CHINESE AS THE BAD GUYS,  CEMENTS THE CONCEPT THAT CAPITALISM INHERENTLY RULES AND COMMUNISM INHERENTLY FAILS) FURTHER INDOCTRINATES KIDS. IF YOU’RE REALLY AN ALIEN I DOUBT YOU’VE SEEN THIS IMAGE, BUT EVERY SINGLE AMERICAN EARTHLING HAS:

THIS GUY IS NAMED UNCLE SAM, HE’S BASICALLY AMERICA’S FURSONA. HE EXISTS TO PRESSURE YOU INTO SIGNING UP TO FIGHT IN A WAR. HE WAS USED A LOT IN THOSE WARS I TALKED ABOUT UP THERE, ESPECIALLY THE FIRST THREE. HE’S NOT AROUND SO MUCH ANY MORE BUT THE GENERAL SENTIMENT IS. HERE’S HOW. 

WHEN YOU GRADUATE FROM HIGH SCHOOL, THE LAST “REQUIRED” STAGE OF SCHOOL, YOU ARE EXPECTED TO MOVE OUT AND GET A JOB TO SUPPORT YOURSELF. BUT NOWADAYS, IF YOU WANT A JOB THAT PAYS FOR YOUR HEALTH CARE, LETS YOU STAY HOME WHEN YOU GET SICK, GIVES YOU DAYS OFF TO GO TO FAMILY EVENTS SUCH AS WEDDINGS, FUNERALS, THE BIRTH OF YOUR CHILDREN, AND OTHER UNIMPORTANT DRIVEL THAT DOESN’T MAKE CEOS MONEY, YOU BET YOUR ASS YOU’D BETTER GET A COLLEGE DEGREE. HAVING A DEGREE IS THE NUMBER ONE WAY YOU CAN GUARANTEE THAT YOU MAKE MORE MONEY. THAT ALL SOUNDS FINE AND DANDY, EXCEPT NOW YOU HAVE TO PAY SOME INDUSTRIAL-SCALE LOAN SHARK MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER HAVE IN YOUR 401(K) TO LET YOU GET YOUR HIGHER EDUCATION. A LOT OF PEOPLE END UP OWING UPWARDS OF FIFTY GRAND TO A PRIVATELY OWNED LOAN AGENCY BY THE TIME THEY’RE TWENTY-ONE, BECAUSE AS FRESH ADULTS THEY WERE TOLD THEY WOULDN’T GET A WORTHWHILE JOB UNLESS THEY HAD A DEGREE. BUT HERE’S THE THING: A LOT OF TIMES, JOBS LIKE THAT WON’T EVEN HIRE YOU UNLESS YOU HAVE A MASTER’S DEGREE NOW! THAT’S ANOTHER TWO YEARS OF CLASSES AND ANOTHER HUGE CHUNK OF MONEY YOU NEVER HAD TO BEGIN WITH. 

OF COURSE THERE ARE LESS EXPENSIVE OPTIONS, LIKE TRADE SCHOOL AND COMMUNITY COLLEGE. BUT REMEMBER THE PROPAGANDA I MENTIONED? IT’S SO PERVASIVE, A LOT OF YOUNG PEOPLE DON’T EVEN CONSIDER TRADE SCHOOL AN OPTION NOW, BECAUSE WE CULTURALLY VALUE THE “INTELLECTUAL” JOBS—DOCTOR, LAWYER, ENGINEER, ACCOUNTANT, BUSINESSMAN—WHICH ARE STRANGELY ALSO THE CAREER PATHS THAT REQUIRE THE MOST INVESTMENT OF TIME AND MONEY! NOW IF YOU DECIDE TO BE LIKE ME AND GET A JOB RIGHT OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL BECAUSE THE EDUCATION INDUSTRY IS A PUTRID WASTELAND, YOU’RE AUTOMATICALLY LOOKED DOWN UPON. A LOT OF TIMES PEOPLE WHO ARE PURSUING LESS LUCRATIVE CAREERS THAT INTEREST THEM***, INSTEAD OF THE BIG MONEY JOBS, ARE DISPARAGINGLY ASKED IF THEY WANT TO “END UP WORKING AT MCDONALDS.” I DON’T PERSONALLY WORK AT MCDONALDS BUT THIS SHIT STILL OFFENDS ME. BUT THEN AGAIN I’M A MILLENNIAL SNOWFLAKE SO WHAT DO I KNOW. 

ACADEMIA HAS A LOT OF ITS OWN PROBLEMS BUT I’VE ONLY HEARD THOSE SECONDHAND, SO LET’S LEAVE THAT HELLSCAPE TO ITS ELITISM AND STAY WITHIN THE BLUE-COLLAR SUBCLASS. COMMON PARLANCE WILL REFER TO THREE MAJOR CLASSES: THE LOWER CLASS (DIPLOMATICALLY CALLED THE “WORKING CLASS”, HA FUCKING HA!), THE MIDDLE CLASS (WHICH THEORETICALLY MAKES UP THE MAJORITY OF THE POPULATION), AND THE UPPER CLASS (FUCK THOSE GUYS BUT WE’LL GET AROUND TO THAT LATER.) THIS MODEL IS PRETTY MUCH JUST DESIGNED TO CREATE TENSION WITHIN THE PROLETARIAT, BUT HANG ON A SECOND, I JUST REMEMBERED YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THE PROLETARIAT IS YET. 

SO BASICALLY, THERE’S NOT THAT MUCH DEFINABLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE “MIDDLE CLASS” AND THE “WORKING CLASS.” WHEN YOU THINK OF WORKING CLASS, COLLOQUIALLY, YOU THINK OF THOSE LOSERS THAT WORK IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY OR DRIVE TAXIS OR (AND THIS IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO SOME PEOPLE) HAVE NO JOB AT ALL. THE MIDDLE CLASS IS MORE LIKE TEACHERS AND MIDDLE MANAGERS AND GUYS THAT BUILD SOFTWARE REMOTELY FOR MICROSOFT. REALLY THOUGH, THERE’S NO WAY TO DRAW A DEFINITIVE LINE BETWEEN THESE PEOPLE. THE BEST WAY TO DEFINE CLASS IN AMERICA, (AND ALSO APPARENTLY GERMANY, AT LEAST IN THE 19TH CENTURY,) IS TO SEPARATE THOSE WHO PRODUCE GOODS AND THOSE WHO OWN THE GOODS THAT ARE PRODUCED. THERE IS NO “MIDDLE CLASS”, THAT’S JUST A MEANINGLESS THING TO STRIVE FOR BASED ON WHAT WHITE FAMILIES IN SITCOMS LOOK AND ACT LIKE. 

WORKERS WHO PRODUCE GOODS AND SERVICES ARE THE BACKBONE OF SOCIETY AND THEY’RE CALLED THE PROLETARIAT. THEY ARE SERVICE WORKERS AND JANITORS AND TAXI DRIVERS AND HOTEL VALETS, BUT THEY ARE ALSO ELECTRICIANS AND PLUMBERS AND MECHANICS, AND THEY ARE LAWYERS AND DOCTORS AND PROFESSORS, AND THEY ARE YOUTUBERS AND INFLUENCERS AND SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGERS. THE PROLETARIAT IS ANYONE WHO MAKES MONEY BY SELLING THEIR LABOR. THEY CAN BE CONTRACTORS SELLING THEIR LABOR TO INDEPENDENT BUYERS, OR FREELANCERS SELLING THEIR LABOR TO MULTIPLE LARGER BUSINESSES, BUT MOST OF THE PROLETARIAT IS DIRECTLY EMPLOYED BY SOME KIND OF COMPANY OWNED BY A MEMBER OF THE BOURGEOISIE. 

THE BOURGEOISIE IS KIND OF A MEME AT THIS POINT BUT THEIR IMPACT ON THE WAY WE LIVE IS FUCKING INESCAPABLE. THEY’RE PEOPLE WHO *BUY* OUR LABOR, ACCRUE CAPITAL BY SITTING ON THEIR (SOMETIMES LITERAL!!!) THRONES, OWNING COMPANIES AND PEOPLE, SOMETIMES BEING A PUBLIC FIGURE (LIKE ELON MUSK) WHO RAKES IN ADORATION FROM HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF MINDLESS TWITTER DRONES WHO STILL BELIEVE IN CLASS MOBILITY****, OR SOMETIMES BEING A SHADOWY FIGURE IN THE BACKGROUND (LIKE THE KOCH BROTHERS) WHO JUST PASSIVELY RAKE IN THE BENEFITS OF OUR HARD WORK AND CAN’T BE ASSASSINATED BECAUSE NO ONE WOULD RECOGNIZE THEM IF THEY WERE SEEN AT KROGER. THEY ARE USUALLY BORN WEALTHY, BUT VERY RARELY THEY CAN USE THEIR CHARISMA, INTELLIGENCE, SOCIAL CONNECTIONS, AND INTRINSIC PRIVILEGE AS A WHITE PERSON TO YANK THEMSELVES UP FROM THE PROLETARIAT (READ MY CLASS MOBILITY NOTE FOR MORE!!!) 

SO THE RESULT OF THIS CLASS DIVISION IS AS FOLLOWS: 

THE PROLETARIAT NEVER EARNS THE ACTUAL VALUE OF THEIR LABOR. A “SMALL” CHUNK IS ALWAYS TAKEN OUT FOR THE PEOPLE AT THE TOP, WHO “RUN” THE COMPANY (BUT REALLY THEIR JOB IS USUALLY TO EAT FANCY LUNCH AND TELL RACIST GOLF JOKES TO RICH INVESTORS). IN FACT, WAGES ARE USUALLY ENTIRELY DISSOCIATED FROM THE ACTUAL PROFIT THE COMPANY MAKES. FOR A BUSINESS TO BE PROFITABLE, IT HAS TO PAY THE EMPLOYEES IT RELIES ON LESS THAN WHAT THEY BRING TO THE TABLE, WHICH MEANS MOST COMPANIES ESTABLISH A BASE WAGE THAT’S EITHER EXACTLY THE STATE’S MINIMUM WAGE OR A COUPLE CENTS HIGHER TO COMPETE. THEY LITERALLY PAY THE LEAST THEY LEGALLY CAN. SOMETIMES *LESS*.

YOUR JOB IS EXPECTED TO BE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN YOUR LIFE. EXHAUSTED AFTER YOUR FORTY, FIFTY, OR SIXTY HOUR WORK WEEK? THAT’S JUST NORMAL, THEY’RE NOT SQUEEZING THE MAXIMUM AMOUNT OF LABOR OUT OF YOU THAT THEY CAN WITHOUT KILLING YOU! WANT TO TAKE A FEW DAYS OFF TO SPEND TIME WITH YOUR WIFE AFTER SHE GAVE BIRTH TO YOUR INFANT CHILD? SORRY, YOU’RE OUT OF SICK DAYS. MISSED THE BUS AND THERE’S NOT ANOTHER ONE FOR AN HOUR? IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR NOT HAVING A CAR OR SPENDING FIFTY BUCKS ON AN UBER. TRYING TO GO TO YOUR FIFTH FAMILY FUNERAL BECAUSE ALL YOUR RELATIVES ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES AFTER A HARD SIXTY YEARS OF LABOR? OOH, SORRY, YOU ONLY GET FOUR FUNERAL DAYS A YEAR! NEED TO GET ANOTHER JOB BECAUSE YOUR CURRENT ONE DOESN’T PAY ENOUGH? WELL, YOU FORGOT TO DISCLOSE IT TO YOUR BOSS AND THEY FIRED YOU FOR TWO-TIMING THEM! A JOB IS MORE OF A COMMITMENT THAN A SPOUSE, AND IF YOU HAVE OTHER PRIORITIES, YOU WON’T LAST LONG. 

BECAUSE THE BOURGEOISIE OWNS SERVICES THAT SHOULD BE PROVIDED BY THE GOVERNMENT, LIKE HEALTHCARE, HOME AND AUTO INSURANCE, A LOT OF HIGHER EDUCATION ESTABLISHMENTS, CREDIT BUREAUS, LOAN COMPANIES, AND HOSPITALS, PROFIT IS THE MOTIVE THERE TOO! WHICH MEANS IF YOU HAVE ANY KIND OF INSURANCE, NEED TO BUY A HOUSE OR A CAR, WANT OR NEED AN EDUCATION, ARE CHRONICALLY ILL, OR JUST EXIST ON A GENERAL BASIS, COMPANIES ARE RIPPING YOU OFF. YOU ARE BASICALLY PAYING THOUSANDS A MONTH FOR THE CHANCE TO GET *SOME* OF YOUR MASSIVE HOSPITAL BILL COVERED IF YOU GET IN AN ACCIDENT. THIS ONE IS NEAR AND DEAR TO ME. FOR UNIMPORTANT REASONS, I MANAGE TO RACK UP A LOT OF DEBT EVERY YEAR GOING TO HOSPITALS AND URGENT CARE, CALLING AMBULANCES, PAYING FOR MEDICATION THAT DOESN’T WORK. DID YOU KNOW YOU’RE CHARGED NIGHTLY TO STAY IN HOSPITALS LIKE THEY’RE GODDAMN HOTELS? LIKE IT’S A FUCKING VACATION? AND DID YOU KNOW THE BILLING DEPARTMENTS OF EACH OF THESE PRIVATELY OWNED ESTABLISHMENTS IS MADE UP OF UNDERPAID, OVERSTRESSED MEMBERS OF THE PROLETARIAT WHOSE JOB IS TO FUCK UP YOUR BILL SO YOU OWE MORE THAN YOUR VISIT ACTUALLY COST? 

MEDICAL FACILITIES ARE ALSO PUSHED TO SELL OVERPRICED DRUGS THAT DON’T WORK TO PEOPLE. HEADS UP, GUYS, BUT ANTIBIOTICS DON’T WORK AGAINST VIRAL INFECTIONS, AND YET THEY’RE PRESCRIBED FOR THE FLU AND COMMON COLD EVERY DAY. AND SOMETIMES THE DRUGS DO WORK, BUT THEY’RE STILL OVERPRICED! IF YOU’VE BEEN ON THE INTERNET AT ALL THIS YEAR YOU’LL KNOW ALL ABOUT THE INSULIN CRISIS, WHICH WAS CREATED ARTIFICIALLY. BASICALLY THE PEOPLE WHO OWN INSULIN (YEAH, *OWN* A LIFE-SAVING MEDICATION) RACKED UP THE PRICE SO MUCH THAT PEOPLE COULDN’T FUCKING AFFORD IT ANYMORE, DESPITE A NORMAL DOSE OF INSULIN COSTING LIKE FIFTY CENTS TO MAKE?? OR, HOW ABOUT THIS—THEY INVENTED THIS COOL NEW CHEAP PAIN-RELIEVING DRUG CALLED FENTANYL AND DISCOVERED THEY COULD MAKE A SHIT TON OF MONEY OFF IT, SO DOCTORS PRESCRIBED THE HELL OUT OF IT UNTIL PEOPLE GOT SO ADDICTED TO IT THAT TENS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE DIED OF OVERDOSES. OH, DID I SAY “PRESCRIBED” IN THE PAST TENSE? MY BAD, THEY CONTINUE TO PRESCRIBE IT EVERY SINGLE DAY. IF YOU HAVE CHRONIC PAIN AND ASK DOCTORS NOT TO PUT YOU ON PAIN MEDICATION, A LOT OF TIMES THEY WILL STILL PUT YOU ON PAIN MEDICATION. IF YOU EXPLAIN TO YOUR DOCTOR THAT YOU KICKED A HEROIN ADDICTION AND YOU REALLY WOULD NOT LIKE TO HAVE OPIOIDS PUT IN YOUR BODY, THEY WILL PROBABLY STILL BE LIKE, HUH, SUCKS FOR YOU, AND PUT OPIOIDS IN YOUR BODY. 

DO YOU WANT TO CHANGE ANY OF THIS? PERHAPS PETITION YOUR LOCAL POLITICIAN, OR GOD FORBID, STATE CONGRESSMAN, TO PASS A LAW THAT YOU THINK MIGHT IMPROVE YOUR LIFE? WELL, IT TURNS OUT YOU NEED A LOT OF MONEY TO RUN A CAMPAIGN NOWADAYS, AND POLITICIANS ARE ALLOWED TO BE SPONSORED BY BIG BUSINESSES, BECAUSE BUSINESSES ARE PEOPLE. SO IF YOU’RE THE SENATOR OF NEW JERSEY OR WHATEVER, AND YOUR CONSTITUENTS WANT YOU TO VOTE TO RAISE THE MINIMUM WAGE, BUT YOUR CAMPAIGN IS OWNED BY WALMART, WHO WANTS TO KEEP PAYING ITS WORKERS ELEVEN BUCKS AN HOUR, YOU HAVE THE CHOICE BETWEEN MAKING A COUPLE LITTLE WORKING CLASS IDIOTS ANGRY OR GETTING ALL YOUR FUNDING FROM WALMART PULLED BECAUSE YOU THREATENED THEIR PROFIT MARGINS. 

NOT ACTIVELY DYING FROM A TREATABLE ILLNESS, WASTING AWAY FROM DRUG ADDICTION, OR ENTRENCHED IN SLAVERY TO A CORPORATION WHOSE PRODUCT YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN? GREAT! DID YOU KNOW THE PLANET WILL BE ON FIRE IN LIKE A FEW DECADES? OIL AND GAS COMPANIES HAVE SO MUCH INFLUENCE OVER THE LAWMAKERS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO PROHIBIT THEM FROM RUINING THE PLANET, THEY’VE PUT THE ONUS OF SAVING IT ON INDIVIDUALS’ SHOULDERS. REDUCE YOUR CARBON EMISSIONS BY TAKING THAT HOURLY BUS (YOU’LL EITHER BE FIFTY MINUTES EARLY TO WORK OR TEN MINUTES LATE!) OR RECYCLING YOUR SHIT (BUT IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR MUNICIPALITY CAN’T RECYCLE, THEY’LL THROW THE WHOLE BATCH OUT WHEN YOU PUT TRASH IN) OR TURNING THE LIGHTS OFF IN YOUR HOUSE (JUST EAT DINNER IN THE DARK YOU PIECE OF SHIT) OR INSTALLING SOLAR PANELS ON YOUR HOUSE (FUCK ME FOR RENTING I GUESS?) THERE IS SO MUCH WE CAN DO JUST WHENEVER TO SWITCH TO SUSTAINABLE ENERGY, BUT EXXON AND BP AND SHELL OWN SO MUCH INFLUENCE THAT WE’RE JUST *NOT*, AND LEAVING THIS WASTELAND OF A HOME PLANET TO OUR FUTURE GENERATIONS. BUT AT LEAST ELON MUSK BUILT THIS REALLY COOL LOW-POLY BETHESDA LOOKING PIECE OF SHIT FOR US TO MAKE MEMES ABOUT

HERE’S THE SKINNY OF IT, PEOPLE. THERE’S NO OUT WITHIN OUR CURRENT SYSTEM. EVEN IF YOU DID THE MAGIC AND PULLED YOURSELF UP BY YOUR BOOTSTRAPS AND NOW YOU’RE A BIG BOY WHO OWNS HIS OWN COMPANY, YOU LEFT BEHIND A BUNCH OF PEOPLE WHO DIDN’T WIN THE BIRTH LOTTERY LIKE YOU DID. INNOCENT FOLKS ARE DYING OF HUNGER OR ILLNESS THEY CAN’T AFFORD TO TREAT, CRASHING CARS THEY CAN’T AFFORD TO FIX, WORKING THEMSELVES LITERALLY TO DEATH TO SUPPORT THEMSELVES OR THEIR FAMILIES, AND SCRAPING BY WITH A MEASLY ALLOWANCE OF FREE TIME WITH WHICH TO UNWIND AND CATCH UP WITH OTHER PEOPLE. THEY DON’T HAVE TIME TO WATCH THE NEWS, THINK CRITICALLY ABOUT THE SOCIETY THEY LIVE IN, CONCEPTUALIZE UNIONIZING OR REVOLTING OR BUILDING GUILLOTINES. THEY WANT TO KEEP US EXHAUSTED AND STRUGGLING BECAUSE IT’S WHAT KEEPS THEM COMFORTABLE UP THERE, KNOWING NO ONE HAS THE ENERGY OR THE GALL TO TOUCH THEM. THE ONLY FUCKING WAY TO ESCAPE THIS HELL WE’VE CREATED IS THROUGH REVOLUTION. WE NEED TO SCRAP THIS WHOLE THING AND START OVER. BUT I THINK THAT’S ANOTHER ESSAY. ANYWAY I HOPE THIS WAS THOROUGH ENOUGH FOR A LITERAL ALIEN SOCIETY. 

TL;DR: WE ARE ALL FUCKED IF WE DON’T OVERTHROW THE RICH. 

---------------

*CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS IS SOME EUROPEAN WHO SAILED THE WRONG WAY AND ENDED UP IN THE AMERICAS. HE AND HIS BUDDIES RAPED AND PILLAGED THEIR WAY THROUGH A BUNCH OF INDIGINOUS COMMUNITIES AND DECIDED THIS COUNTRY WAS “FREE REIGN” TO SETTLE IN. HE IS HAILED AS THE AMERICAN ODYSSEUS AND CREDITED WITH THE “DISCOVERY” OF AMERICA BECAUSE OF COURSE ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO LIVED HERE FIRST DON’T COUNT??

**I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT WARS EITHER BUT LET’S GET INTO IT FROM THE POV OF A GUY WHO PASSED HIS WORLD HISTORY CLASS WITH A STRAIGHT B MINUS. 

THE FIRST WORLD WAR: I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THIS ONE.

THE SECOND WORLD WAR: THE ONE WHERE A BUNCH OF SCIENTISTS AND GOVERNMENT OFFICERS BOMBED A COUPLE OF CIVILIAN SETTLEMENTS IN JAPAN AND I’M PRETTY SURE AN *ENTIRE HAWAIIAN ISLAND* JUST TO SEE WHAT HAPPENED. TURNS OUT IT KILLED A BUNCH OF CIVILIANS. HUH! WHO’D HAVE EXPECTED THAT! OH IT ALSO TURNED AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF OTHERWISE DECENT FOLKS INTO RABIDLY PATRIOTIC IDIOTS, BECAUSE THE PACE AT WHICH THIS COUNTRY CHURNS OUT PROPAGANDA DURING A WAR IS FASTER THAN THE SPEEDING RUBBER BAND I SHOT WITH MY FINGERS AT THE TEACHER WHO WAS EXPLAINING WHY EVERY OTHER COUNTRY WAS IN THE ABSOLUTE WRONG DURING THIS CATASTROPHE.

VIETNAM: OKAY SO BASICALLY PEOPLE HATED THIS ONE BECAUSE THEY REALIZED SOLDIERS WERE GOING ALL CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS ON THE COUNTRIES WHERE THEY WERE STATIONED. ENOUGH SAID. 

COLD WAR: THIS IS NOMINALLY A WAR BECAUSE THE GOOD OLD U.S.A. AND ITS HATEFUCKBUDDY THE U.S.S.R.† DID THIS WITH WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION 

(EVENTUALLY THEY DECIDED TO PUT THE FINGER GUNS AWAY. I’M GONNA LET YOU TRY TO PUZZLE OUT ON YOUR OWN HOW COUNTRIES “PUT AWAY” NUCLEAR WEAPONS CAPABLE OF ENDING ALL LIFE ON EARTH.)

SPACE RACE: THE U.S. AND THE U.S.S.R. HAD A FUN COMPETITION TO SEE WHOSE DICK WAS BIG ENOUGH TO GET TO THE MOON. SCIENCE IS RUINED. 

***ARTISTS, WRITERS, JOURNALISTS, VIDEO ESSAYISTS, AND ANYONE ELSE WHO ISN’T EITHER OWNED OR SPONSORED (THAT’S A FANCY WORD FOR “OWNED”) BY BIG BUSINESS TEND TO BE THREATENED BY POVERTY. PRETTY MUCH ANYONE WHO CAN FREELANCE ACTUALLY, BECAUSE WORKING FOR A CORPORATION PROVIDES THE SAFETY NET THAT SOCIAL PROGRAMS WOULD OTHERWISE TAKE CARE OF IF SOCIAL PROGRAMS WERE FUNDED EVER. 

****ALSO KNOWN AS THE AMERICAN DREAM, IN WHICH *ANYBODY* CAN MAKE IT IN THIS COUNTRY IF THEY TRY HARD ENOUGH! UNFORTUNATELY THIS IS A MYTH, AS YOU CAN SEE BY THE FACT THAT I AM STILL REALLY POOR, AS IS LIKE 90% OF THE COUNTRY. PLUS CLASS MOBILITY WORKS REALLY HARD TO KEEP MINORITIES IN EXTREME POVERTY, BECAUSE IT DOESN’T EXIST AS AN ISOLATED SYSTEM AND ANYONE WHO THINKS IT DOES IS A DUMBSHIT WHO’S BOUGHT INTO THIS EVEN MORE THAN THE AVERAGE DUMBSHIT. 

†RUSSIA’S COOL NEW NAME WHEN IT TRIED OUT SOCIALISM

[tropylium]

a nonexhaustive list of things that have contributed to my official graduation being delayed for 8+ months now

a missing piece of coursework (“nbd, I’ll do that whenever, once I have fewer things to worry about [completes it two weeks ago]”)

a minor that was completed too long ago to be eligible for inclusion in my degree (“fuck, guess I’ll have to wrap up another minor I started later but bailed out on … [later] wait what do you mean master’s degrees haven’t required a minor in years, when did this change”)

a missing language course, on account that the language courses I have completed are under the wrong administrative code (“are you shitting me now”)

having to investigate a case of sufficiently-advanced-accounts-misfiling-is-indistinguishable-from-embezzling (“hey tropy its dr. boss, can we compare notes on how much has the uni been paying you exactly since our project account is emptying at an alarming rate”)

a professor being too busy to grant me some missing credits (“hey prof sorry to bug you the 4th time in 3 months-including-Xmas about this but…”)

another professor being too busy to grant me the advanced studies completed flag (“at least you’re also holding vacant the workspace I was supposed to be getting once I actually graduate, that counts for something I’m sure”)

…which would be, all things considered, all still fairly minor hassle given that I’ve already been working in a research project since last year; except that a portion of the grant money I would be paid with cannot be transferred before I have my diploma

[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

A big wall of text of me complaining about my advisor just ignore unless you care about the inner workings of my department

The only thing that sucks about being able to continue my education is now I have to talk to my advisor to get "guidance" on my spring semester...I have zero ideas what to sign up for as far as classes go because my degree progress on the portal is confusing as hell and doesn't seem to be updated honestly...everyone hates the advisor for our department...he's not the most forthcoming if you don't know what to ask him.

I feel like he's overwhelmed and doesn't pay attention unless you actually know what you're doing which many students don't really know what they're doing. I'm older so I can at least kind of have the background of not being a fresh faced 18 year old...however it is hard because I had a disability advisor handle literally everything at my community college and now I have the department advisor who does??? Like he's not the greatest from what everyone says. Like he forgot to tell a bunch of people that they had to have a form that he signs for them if they're planning on graduating. It's the form your advisor signs declaring you have fulfilled your department requirements and he's just agreeing...yeah he didn't tell anyone so people are like wtf my dude...I haven't had any issues with him aside from occasionally wishing he was more willing to actually speak up and give me guidance. Like I have to work with him here and I need someone to go "hey here's a good plan for you since we've talked about your possible career goals." Like I had to have a long talk with him when I switched to this major and I didn't see any red flags but then everyone is like "ugh fuck advisor's name. He's the worst." Although allegedly we're getting a new advisor in this department next semester and I low-key sort of hope I get stuck with them...because I fear that my current advisor is going to forget to tell me something important and I'll be screwed over. Like he's bad enough that people actually were talking about getting a petition with everyone's complaints to take to the dean because everyone feels frustrated by him at this point...Part of me does sympathize because like I said I'm sure he's overwhelmed since he manages all the students in this department and I'm sure Covid made things complicated like I don't pretend to know what's going on with his personal life and I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt...but my dude forgets a lot of shit. Plus he suggested some classes to me last semester and I wound up not taking one and I'm taking it this semester. I can see from the material that I would have been fucked if I took experimental psychology and statistics for psych majors at the same time. I needed the background from the statistics class to use in the experimental class from what I see. So if I'd done them at the same time I would have been lost. So I kind of have to side-eye some of his suggestions. I'm also planning on telling him that I am considering possibly going for my masters at some point as this seems like the smartest career move for me, so I need to figure out what classes he'd suggest for me if this is my goal at some point...so here's to hoping he actually suggests helpful things and doesn't just suggest shit that isn't going to cut it when I actually start applying to grad school.

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

Man, I’m honestly so exhausted with all of this family-related drama. It’s gone well past the point where it was a “look at how fucked up my family is isn’t in wild” point of conversation and has just turned into something genuinely exhausting, and yes, people are most likely sick of me moaning and complaining about it, but I’m honestly just so tired. This whole crap with my sister-- helping look after her kid, putting up with her abuse, seeing the effect it has on my brother and my mam-- has just gotten so out of hand so long and drawn out and ridiculous that I really just don’t want anything to do with it any more. I love Liah, I really do. I’ve helped raise her for over a year and in that time I’ve learned how rewarding it can be to help raise kids, and it’s made me realize that I definitely do want kids one day, but this responsibility and the drama that comes along with it was something I never asked for. I took it up out of sheer necessity. My mother is 51 years old, with a bad back and a heel spur, and she just doesn’t have the energy to look after a growing, five-year-old girl any more, and so I’ve left to do a lot of what a traditional parent does. I get up with her in the mornings my mum doesn’t have to be up already, I get her ready, I bring her to school, I pick her up, I entertain her while mum is working, feed her, dress her, put her to bed, read her bedtime stories, do her homework with her... the list goes on. And like I said, it’s not like these are the parts that I resent; Liah is so loving and such a funny little kid, and I love her so damn much. These are valuable, bonding experiences that I have with her and every time she tells me she loves me or any time she laughs whenever we’re playing our games or we share one of our little jokes is so lovely that it does make it all feel as though it’s all worthwhile. But, the perpetual, constant effort and the time and the energy that doing stuff like this takes on top of knowing that the whole reason I’m even doing this is because my sister just isn’t capable and to a large part unwilling to is making me increasingly bitter and angry. Then we have the periodic battles with Sean over custody and access, the stuff that my sister does all of the time seeking attention or otherwise just doing what she wants to do without regard to the consequences or other people’s feelings, seeing my mam getting so stressed out and anxious as much as I am, seeing the lies and the horrible things that my sister has said affecting my brother, the anxieties that I have over my own future, over Liah’s future, the impacts it has on my mam’s health... it’s just so enraging. To think that my sister can so casually, so effortless relinquish the responsibility of raising the child she gave birth to, but then turn around and claim me and my mam are X, Y, and Z, cause more drama and more worry and more anxiety, just because she misses her and has decided she wants to be a half-decent mother for five minutes.  I remember when I last met with my aunt and uncle from the states (two of my absolute favourite people in the world, and people who I should try and keep in contact with more) and we were in Brother Hubbards in town, and I talked to them a little bit about what was going on with my sister, the pressure I felt like I was under, and they were so wonderful and understanding. They’ve always been incredibly supportive and encouraging (they see potential in me somewhere, I suppose, or perhaps they just feel sorry for me knowing what’s going on-- god that sounds pathetic) and when I gave them all the details they said that my sister was a vortex, and that I was getting slowly dragged into what she was doing to herself. If I didn’t pull myself out of it I’d end up trapped in it indefinitely, but what does pulling myself out of it even mean? Leaving my mam here alone to deal with all of this? Leaving Liah when she’s already so attached to me and end up hurting the both of us, but perhaps her moreso because she’s already lost her dad and her mam? I don’t want to do that. I don’t think I’d be able to happy knowing that I’ve just jumped so much responsibility and left it all with my mam, and knowing that Liah would miss me. And besides, how am I supposed to get out anyway? That kind of idea requires mobility, which requires money, not something I have a whole lot of. Hopefully, when I do get a job (THAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO GET TWO MONTHS AGO HELLO COSTA???) I’ll be able to save up and maybe just get an apartment somewhere? Maybe that would be enough to erect some very much needed distance? Or would I just get dragged into it no matter how far I go? I honestly don’t know at this stage, and don’t know if I’ll even be able to do that if the opportunity does come around.  I mean, I’m sitting at home with Liah, watching Tangled with her, and as much as I’m trying to put on a happy and funny face for her, I’m also waiting for the guards to come because Sean decided that he wasn’t going to pick Liah up like he was supposed to last weekend and moved it to this weekend instead, even though the court order says it’s only every two weeks. He came, I had to argue with him at the door, he said that we breaking a court order for the third time(???) and then went to my aunt Mandy’s, because my sister, on the phone, told him that’s where she often brings her when she’s in work, then he gave Mandy shit when she’s nothing to do with this, said he was bringing the guards to her house too, then my mam got a call off the guards... etc., etc. So right now I don’t know if he’s going to turn up still, with the guards and my loud, unpredicated, batshit insane sister and demand to see her. I’m here, on my own, with Liah, trying to keep her entertained and pay attention to her cute little commentaries on Rapunzel's hair or respond to her silly little faces, but in reality I’m anxious as fuck worrying about what I’m going to do should that happen.  I never asked for any of this. I never did anything in all of this to warrant this. I wasn’t the one who had a child and got with a man who turned out to be a domineering, imperious asshat with the emotional intelligence of a laminated sheet who decided, all of a sudden, that he was Liah’s father. I should be working and saving up for my master’s degree and planning my future rather than rushing home to look after my niece and entertain her. I should be texting friends on my days off and asking if they’re free for a few pints or if they want to head out somewhere and hangout. Instead, I’m sitting here with my niece on my lap, looking out the window like a paranoid schizophrenic every time a car goes by thinking it’s either Sean and the guards and planning about what I’m going to say or do-- I can only imagine what my neighbours think every time I peek my goofy looking head out the window to check if it’s him. I’m incredibly anxious, feeling almost as though I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack (I probably sound like a right Tumblrina atm but that is something I’ve actually started having since all this started), and even when there’s nothing immediately wrong there are still these underlying issues and worries-- how long is this going to go on? Am I even doing a good job doing what I’m doing or am I only making things worse? Is this what my whole life is going to revolve around now? Liah is only 5, how long am I going to have to be an informal parent / steward / guardian for her? Until she’s 18? What impact is that going to have on my future? Despite being unemployed I feel as though I have so little time to myself any more. I can’t really read uninterrupted because I feel guilty about just plopping Liah in front of a television screen for two long and not interacting with her, and the same applies to playing games or even just hanging around on the internet for too long.  And people are probably wondering; well, why not just let Sean look after Liah? He’s clearly quite willing to considering he’s going through so much trouble himself to even just get access. And the truth is that we’re uncomfortable with Sean. Beside me and my mam’s own personal distaste for his character (he’s, as I said, imperious, demanding, condescending, disdainful, etc.) he’s also got a weird personal history that we feel is pretty suspect. I mean, the guy has sort of casually slipped into a number of family’s lives and taken on a very, well, “affectionate” attitude towards these people’s kids. I think he seems himself as a form of surrogate father for these people’s kids, and that makes me... uncomfortable. Why does he feel the need to become so close to these kids? He’s done so against the wishes of at least one family, as people have cut off contact with him for telling them how to raise their kids when he’s not even related to them and their parents are doing a perfectly fine job. Then there’s the duplicity, the willingness to listen to Michelle’s bullshit when he probably knows full well that she’s spouting lies because it provides an excellent starting point for legal invectives in court, the fact that he insists on Liah calling him Daddy when we’ve already expressed we’re uncomfortable with that, the fact that he sent messages to Liah’s father’s biological family implicating that Michelle attacked his mother... it’s just a whole load of bullshit, and we’re not happy with it. But, unfortunately, the courts ruled that he’s entitled to loco parentis because, when Michelle got involved with him, he spent enough time around Liah to be entitled to it. Now, the judge the last time we were in court said that we it up to him and had he been there at the ruling where he had been given it, he wouldn’t have given it at all, but unfortunately due to either a case of the judge’s oversight or simply because it appeared at the time that he was a good man worthy of it, he was awarded it. So that’s what we have to deal with. His constant butting into our lives because he was awarded loco parentis and visitation rights. Plus, Liah does love him. Misguidedly so, but she’s five, you obviously can’t blame her for that. And it’s painful to think about how heartbroken she would be were it a case she wouldn’t see him again-- although we do believe it’d be better in the long run. 

So that’s really it at the moment, anyway. I’m so fed up but I don’t know what to do.

[demisexualemmaswan]

hi i’m mad at a friend so i’m putting it under the cut if you’re reading this it’s not about you

also i’m definitely being a little bit horrible and judgemental but oh well

idk why you consistently give me these sanctimonious lectures instead of just talking rationally like a person. I don’t need a lecture about how awful living w depression and anxiety are bc I’m already there! You can’t tell me I don’t know what it possibly feels like to experience these things when you don’t fucking ask how I’m doing!!! 

I don’t need a paragraphs long explanation of the severity or the reality of the situation or whatfuckingever because guess what? holy shit you’re not the only person that’s ever experienced unemployment in a metropolitan area!! oh my god!! no fucking way!!! 

also I get that you didn’t get your degree to be an intern but guess what? you picked a field that requires a lot of grunt work no one is just gonna hire you to be an associate unless you know someone!! I didn’t get my fucking master’s degree to be an intern either but guess what: i’m applying to get experience and make connections and your field is way broader than mine, hun. there are so many elements you need to break into with its nuances and we live in fucking [redacted] of course there’s only going to be internships with other positions open you’re competing against every fucking yuppie with a trust fund whose dad knows the president of the company that you’re applying for.

also whlie yes it’d be annoying that one week’s worth of pay at a paid internship in [redacted] would be fucking annoying 1. it’d cost more to drive and 2. you could save the other 3/4 or 4/5s of your paycheck (roughly 1k if you’re working part time) for other things (granted taxes are a thing but still)

and yes, I get it’s expensive to be unemployed even if you’re living with your parents (I’m doing it right now and for the last year I did it alone in another country) like you’re still gonna have a roof over your head so you can in fact save that money for other things!! or like quit smoking if you need to save money that bad. and again, quitting an addiction is terrible you’re also in a position where you could do that!! 

like holy fuck is this why you’re mad at J because she’s gotten an internship in a field that she wants to be successful in?? that she moved to the city and needs to commit herself to this thing to stay alive?

you spend all this energy being so goddamn righteous but has it ever occurred to you that you are, in fact, wrong?? and that maybe, it wouldn’t kill you to consider someone else’s perspective for a little while? or at least have the graciousness to say “hey, this won’t work and I’ll give a short explanation why” instead of being so goddamn condescending like you are the utmost authority on everything!! it’s fucking frustrating!!!!!!!!!! 

also stop erasing my identity as a bi person!! just bc I’ve only dated girls does not mean I’m firmly a lesbian your biphobia is fucking jumping out the window, babe!!!! do you know how hard I’ve had to work to be comfortable enough to admit in public that I like girls??? how hard it is because I can’t know who is going to change the way they think and behave around me based on this information? and how terrifying it is??

in fact, you’ve never bothered to ask me why I don’t date men you just take everything at face value!!! it probably doesn’t even occur to you that other people get scared or are hurting on the inside because why would anyone else feel anything when you’re the goddamn sun so we should all be focused on your feelings!!!!!!!!!

do you have any idea on how much energy I spent trying to fucking take care of everyone? to make sure you’re heard and J’s heard and to try and smooth out whatever misunderstanding you’ve got going on between you two but no one ever fucking hears me. when have you even bothered. not once, while I was away did you reach out just see how I was goddamn doing. but I come home and I drop everything for you because you’re having a bad time of it.

and the worst part is I can’t be done! I’ll always get pulled into this stupid fucking cycle because I’m a moron apparently. 

[davidfostercomedyblog]

The Things We Take for Granted

As a child I always wanted to be poor and black. As an adolescent I was criticized for this seemingly preposterous desire, but if anyone thought about it, it was quite logical. All of my heroes were poor and black: Rappers, many favorite actors (and the characters they portrayed), and most athletes (prior to signing their contracts) were poor and black. And what child doesn’t want to emulate their heroes?

Growing up my family was “comfortable” by white, American standards - filthy fucking rich by planetary standards. We didn’t attend private school, nor summer in the Hamptons, but my brother and I each had our own bedroom and Mom didn’t have to work. If you can claim the same and are under the impression that you’re not rich you’re probably a bad person.

 In 1994 the tides turned as Dad was let go by his company, who discovered a “loophole” in his contract that would transform his promised $100,000/year pension into a $0/year pension, and the house wasn’t close to paid for. Mom had to go to work, Dad had to go back, and if I ever wished to again be “comfortable” I’d have to earn it, which is hardly something to whine about, still a factor in my reality.

 I’ve lived in a million shit holes. In 1998 I was paying $440/month on West 15th St.

 Do you know what you get for $440 on W. 15th Street? A room, literally nine feet by six, that happened to offer a great view of the Empire State Building. It was an “SRO” – single room occupancy, which means no kitchen or living room, no nothing, but a miniature refrigerator if you’re lucky, and a dingy-AF bathroom in the hallway to be shared with whatever other college kids or miscreants caught in some life transition (or perpetual non-transition) happened to live on the floor. At the time I was the former, in love with alcohol and psychedelic drugs, and it was the best time of my life. One night my friend, Tre got locked out of his car and had to sleep over, which we executed brilliantly, each of us curled into fetal position at opposite ends of my futon single and I’m confident no spooning took place. Tre decided to take some magic mushrooms from my stash, leaving crumbs of them on the sheets as if they were late night cookies, but the next day he claimed they “didn’t really work.” Incidentally, I got a better night’s sleep than I probably would now by myself on a king-sized pillow top. Ah, youth.

 Eventually I upgraded to another SRO on 13th and 3rd Ave. for $600/month, which boasted over twice the square footage, and Tre ironically coined, “The Palace.” The Palace was (barely) able to fit a full-sized futon, parallel to a “coffee table” and perpendicular to a single bed, which made Tre’s sleepovers twice as comfortable and ten times as frequent. Infestation was worse than at the previous domicile, if for no other reason than the aforementioned law of probability as it pertains to literal space. What are the chances of mice and cockroaches as much finding their way into a box as specific as 54 square feet in a New York City building? We’d mostly hear the mice shuffling at night in the dark, but ironically saw roaches in the light, fearlessly perusing the sink or climbing the walls, and I don’t think I’ll ever again laugh as hard as I did when Tre pointed one out and muttered in a weed-smoked stupor: “Room service is here, nigga. You wanna place an order?”

 Summers in SRO’s were tough, as air conditioners were forbidden, because capitalism works and life is fair. I’ll never forget one morning the heat was so intense that it woke me up early, so I got up, grabbed my things and bought one ticket to an early morning showing of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. I’d already suffered through one showing of the cinematic vomit, but figured the air conditioned theater with an awfully uninteresting dialogue and plot as backdrop was the perfect setting to finish my night’s rest. I was right.

 No doubt the most interesting part about my time in The Palace was the ongoing mystery of who on my floor was responsible for the intermittent appearances of explosive diarrhea sprayed across the shared bathroom’s walls. One day they would be perfectly clean (relative to SRO’s), and the next day, Wham (literally)! It was everywhere, on the wall behind the toilet and beside it, on the floor as well as the trashcan, and at the still unshakeable age of 22 I was often as impressed by this poor soul’s range and diameter as I was grossed out by it being all over my home. The one thankful, but equally disturbing part of it was there was almost never any shit on the actual bowl. Who was this fascinating beast, first of all with some great gastrointestinal power, that insisted on ruthlessly shitting all over his own home and the home of others, but simultaneously considerate enough to never filthy the seat that his neighbors had to share? We had our suspects, but never got a conclusive verdict.

 I graduated from SRO’s to futons in friends’ living rooms, one of which was directly above the loudest and most volatile gay bar in Chelsea, The Rawhide. Instead of unbearable August humidity, it was techno music and the sounds of masculine rejoice that disrupted my sleep, sometimes from below, other times from my best friend’s room. He was more successful than I with drunk girls at parties, thus serving as an in-house reminder of my failures and frustrations in the middle of many nights. The majority of our time at The Rawhide was okay, though it ended poorly, with a break-up from my two best friends (Tre included), typical when cramming three besties into a two bedroom for four years.

 I’ve lived everywhere, dawg.

 For a few years I had my own studio apartment on one of Washington Heights’ most drug-infested blocks, which is kind of like saying the “most volatile gay bar in Chelsea.” One time a girl I was dating asked me to go outside and find her a bag of weed and I didn’t even make it to the bottom of the staircase before scoring. Location, location… I then moved cross country into a studio in the heart of Hollywood, Los Angeles, then to a dark and dirty converted two-bedroom with two Filipino women in Koreatown for two years, and to this day I have no idea whether or not they were a gay couple. It didn’t matter if they were; I just thought it curious that after all that time and interaction I remained curious. The worst part about that spot was just having to regularly concoct white lies about why I couldn’t join them at weekly Bible study, and each morning waking up to the sounds of urination through the thinly constructed bedroom wall.

 “Why don’t you just borrow money from your parents and get a better place?” a friend asked in one of the classic erroneous assumptions made by privileged people:

1.     Everyone may not have money, but their parents do at least. False.

2.     Hard work = financial success. I’ve never taken a vacation and I have nothing, which is half the reason why I’ve never taken a vacation.

3.     Intelligence = financial success. Donald Trump is President.

 I moved back to New York with the same complete void of resources that I’d gone to L.A. with, but got hooked up with a room in a real 2Br in Harlem for $678/month! No contract and right in my price range! What was the catch?  

 Never in my life had I seen such infestation.

 I’ll repeat that for the cheap seats and ears deafened by our over-stimulated society of idiots exploiting non-literal superlatives in order to garner attention: Never in my life had I seen such infestation. This includes homes I’ve lived in, as well as every one I’ve ever visited or even passed through just to get a quarter pound of weed in 1995. In my first week there I would come home at night, turn on the kitchen lights and see anywhere from 3-10 of the filthy insects fleeing for safety across the sink and countertop, in much greater numbers and more cowardly fashion than the apathy with which room service used to creep up The Palace walls. Roaches were so much tougher in the 90’s.

 Thankfully I barely ever saw them in the bedroom, but they absolutely owned the kitchen and bathroom. We were just renting, mere visitors in their home where they ruled, they roamed, and I didn’t bother to inquire as to whether the roommate would mind if I doused the place in bleach, taped and calked up all cracks in the floors and walls, and bought a new kitchen garbage… With. A. Cover.

 Within a month I was victorious in defending the wall, and the wildling little creatures were gone. I’ve been on HBO and Showtime, won comedy festival competitions and earned a Master’s degree in Chinese Medicine, and this was truly one of my greatest achievements in life. Unfortunately my new abode’s other obstacle would prove an impossible hurdle, and one I’d have to stand down to for the 15 months to come: El Bano.  

In order to successfully flush I had to hold the toilet handle down for anywhere from 5-12 seconds, making for the longest I’ve ever had to hold a toilet handle down for. Some toilets are stubborn, requiring a hold of 2-3 seconds, max. The next time you flush a toilet hold the handle down for 12 seconds. It’s an eternity.

 The seat was disgusting and I immediately decided that no square inch of my skin would ever come into contact with it. To be honest I didn’t even like the idea of my anus hanging above it. I thought about purchasing and attempting to install a new seat, though my brother brought up a good point.

 “Considering the apparent hygienic standards of your roommate, will you freely sit on the bare seat if you buy a new one?”

 “No.”

 “Okay then.”

 To cover up the impenetrable stains of funk and musk I instead resigned to spray paint the seat white, and continued to cover it with paper each time I sat down.

 Supposedly we couldn’t call the super for repairs, as part of the reason our rent was so cheap was because the apartment was rent controlled from a time before even my roommate lived there. Neither of our names were on the lease. The bathroom would remain as is, which could only be described as fucking disgusting.  

 I don’t know that I’d ever before smelled the smell, “putrid,” or even “rancid,” and if I had it was only in passing, only in that split second of sensual recognition before we clench our orifices in sheer panic and flee the scene for cleaner air, greener pastures. The smell emitted from my new, old bathroom’s pipes was putridly rancid, and if it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever smelled it was at least the worst I’d ever smelled regularly. Many times while going to the bathroom I would try covering my nose with my shirt, but the thin layer of cotton was no match for this entity that surely required some kind of exorcism to defeat its demonic potency. Googled gimmicks such as baking soda and vinegar offered only brief reprieve, and for the first time in my life I was brushing my teeth everyday in the (newly exterminated) kitchen.

 Unfortunately, neither the odor nor the Zen toilet flusher was my biggest gripe with the room. I would have easily tolerated either of these were it not for the worst Goddamn shower I’ve ever taken in my life. I took 500 of them if I took one.

 The water dribbled out in pathetic pressure and took forever to get warm, and these were the unit’s only two familiar flaws from prior shit holes. Additionally delayed was its response to temperature adjustment, so if I came back after waiting the allotted 5-10 minutes and found the water to be scalding hot I couldn’t just adjust the knobs and expect it to adjust. There was a consistently inconsistent wait time between turning the cold water knob and when the water actually got cooler, or if it got cooler at all. Often times I’d get impatient and make it too cold before the defunct pipes were able to catch up and the water suddenly turned to the opposite extreme. Every shower was a non-stop guessing game, concurrent with a waiting game and usually a physical dance, as I’d err mostly hotter instead of colder, and had to dance in and out of the stream to rinse off suds but also avoid getting burned. The worst instances that brought me to exclaiming expletives while naked, wet and alone were surely at the end of long workdays in the winter. I’d bend over to wash my legs and feet and suddenly the erratic unit would turn from a tolerable temp to either ice cold or boiling, spraying my lower back, transforming what all my life had been a relaxing, therapeutic experience into a frustrating battle; a daily reminder of the impoverished outcome of all my hard work. Who’d ever think showering would become something I’d dread?  

 The good news is that next week I’m moving out, moving on up, not to the east side, thank God, but into my girlfriend’s apartment, who besides being lovely and beautiful, brilliant and hilarious, has a functional shower in an odorless bathroom with a toilet that flushes when you flush it. Amazing! I’ve never seen a cockroach in her place, and if she’s ever had explosive diarrhea it’s remained a secret, surely aimed and disposed of appropriately. I promise never to take such luxuries (nor my girlfriend) for granted again. For the first time in 21 years I’m comfortable. I may just miss being able to leave the toilet seat up.

[kelandry5]

I just want to say, I’m sorry for being depressing lately and I’m sorry I can’t just pretend the way I normally would. I’m trying, but it’s not failing. And I’m sorry if my depressing posts bother anyone, but this is basically my only place to vent. 

This is a bit of a rant and you don’t need to read this, I just need to get it out. There is a lot going on in my life and a good bit of it I can’t even rant about because just thinking about it gives me terrible anxiety.... just still no job and the paypal charges and the dental issues that never end and things between me and my mom and grad school shit and my nana’s Alzheimers and insecurities and this fucking toxic place and my pain and the nightmares and sleep issued and just a lot of fucking shit going on....But I feel like trying to get some things out because maybe it will calm me down and it’s probably better than turning to razors to help me sleep tonight. I’ve done enough of that the past few days...

I still don’t have a job and I just found out there were two $100 dollar charges to my paypal from some German advertisement company???? that should not exist and there is now a case open on the charges but I don’t have 200 dollars lying around to spare if shit doesn’t go in my favor. I don’t even know how it happened but it’s not okay and it has me freaked out and my mom is just like whatever and I’ve changed my password and everything but like that’s still not okay.

And I’ve been applying to jobs for over a year now, granted I took breaks because at times my anxiety got so bad I literally could not, but still. In August I had an interview at Harris Teeter and got a job offer pending the results of a drug test and background check. There should have been nothing on the background check, not even a speeding ticket. I verified with the company that did the drug testing my perscription meds so there shouldn’t have been anything wrong there either. Yet I never heard another word and they didn’t give me a number to contact and honestly I’m too afraid to contact because my imagination likes to supply way too many crazy possibilities but I’m also freaked out as hell because what if there is something I don’t know about. Or what if it’s because the drug levels were lower on the test because I didn’t take my meds that day. I didn’t take them because they make me more reserved, and so far I’ve had a hard time with interviews and not taking them actually helped me be more outgoing and speak, but what if that screwed it up. Or what if there is something in my records I don’t know about. I don’t know how, but what if there is? I wouldn’t even know. So now I’m scared shitless because what if I get another interview and another offer and then.... it turns out the same way. And it doesn’t help that I’m 24 and have no job experience. I mean I do, but it’s all volunteer work or not exactly on the books work. And my main experience I can’t even give references for because the entire senior dance team left the place on a bad note and I know that woman don’t like me... if she even remembers me. And like, I was sort of paid, but it was an exchange of services so it doesn’t even count. But what the fuck does it even matter because for all I know I’ll never get a fucking job. Couldn’t get one before university when I tried either. Am I just that fucking unwanted!? I don’t even know. But I need a job. I need money. And I’m fucking scared as shit.

And my teeth situation hasn’t improved either. I have no fucking bottom chewing teeth whatsoever. Okay, like one tooth. and a screw. That doesn’t really count. Thank you fucking genetics and medication. And I am so sick of living in fear of dental issues and so sick of all the problems they have caused me and so sick of dentists being dick heads. And recently one of the root canal/crowns I had fucking broke off at the gum. Just broke. End of story. Out of no where. Like this shouldn’t even be surprising. It really shouldn’t by now. With everything that has gone on with my teeth, this should be fucking expected. And I should count myself lucky because at least this isn’t something that causes pain. At least this isn’t another three months on way more pain meds than anyone should be taking yet still in too much pain to be awake (and enough pain to be considering suicide just to make it stop) while waiting three months for dental surgery because dentists are fucking assholes. I mean, since it had a root canal, there is nothing for there to be in pain. So I guess I should be counting my blessings. But that doesn’t really help when I know that is at least 2000 dollars down the drain. And I still need like six implants and those are 2000 dollars a piece and that isn’t counting the build up and crown which could be almost another 2000 dollars. Yes, they make you pay 2000 dollars for a fucking tiny ass screw that barely breaks the surface of the gum. True, I could have all my teeth removed and get dentures, but that will just cost money down the line because that can cause all sorts of gum problems. My grandfather had that. (thank him for my shitty genetics). He had all his teeth removed by the time he was 20 years old. But we are now looking into these other type of implants that don’t put in individual screws for every tooth, but those can still cost as much as a fucking masters degree! And by that I mean they can cost as much as 50,000 dollars or more! And that requires finding a dentist to do it first. Which we haven’t really had the time to do.

Partially because my grandparents are taking up a lot of time and resources too. Well the ones on my dads side got a home care person coming four days a week and my uncle on that side helps with them some. But my mom and I are left to take care of my nana with alzheimers. She doesn’t know she has it and refuses home care help or to move and she lives alone. And it’s fucking scary. She can leave the house to go to the grocery store and drive around for four hours before coming home without ever going to the store. She can get lost going to the bathroom in a store. And there is little we can do legally. We can’t force care on her or take her car keys away. As it is, we try to convince her to let us take her where she needs to go and my mom keeps up with all her finanaces and doctor appointments and everything but my mother also works full time for the fucking asshole government so it’s a lot of stress on her which means she take it out on me sometimes. And I try to help as much as I can but it’s still hard. And this week, my nana has shown up at her hair dressers nearly every day thinking she has her weekly appointment and she keeps calling our house thinking we didn’t show up to take her to her doctors appointment because she is convinced it’s the wrong fucking day and don’t get me wrong. I love my nana. Though at this point she’s not really the same and I’ve kind of already accepted she is gone, but I still love her and she is still family, it’s just a lot to take care of and worry about. It’s a constant stress on everyone and it’s just a matter of time before something worse happens than what already has. But thank you laws for being fucking useless in this situation. 

And I’m supposed to be applying for grad schools but at this point I don’t even know if I can afford to go because I can’t get a fucking job and I may have to use what money I have for college on my teeth if worse comes to worst. And I don’t know if I even should be leaving. I mean, within a year my nana might be able to be forced into care or she may not. If not, will I even be able to leave? I haven’t a fucking clue. 

Plus I’m just really torn up inside and I have a feeling a lot of it is due to my anxiety and depression and just being back in this godforsaken place, but I’ve lost a lot of my motivation for what I want to do with my life. Actually, it’s more like I’m afraid, terrified even. I keep thinking what if I’m making the wrong decision. What if this isn’t right. What if I’m not cut out for this. Hell, what if I’m not cut out for anything? What if I am completely fucking useless and hopeless and never meant to be anything? What if there really is no point? What if I’m making a mistake. 

It’s like that even with my engagement. I keep thinking that maybe this is a mistake. Maybe it’s wrong. What if it is? What if everything I’m doing is wrong? What if, what if, what if, what if. And all these terrible thoughts fill my head. What if I’m not in love. What if it’s my imagination. What if I’m just afraid of being alone or something. What if I’m afraid of not having a dream (meaning the job I want because deciding what I wanted to do with my future is one of the big things that got me out of being seriously suicidal and gave me a reason to live and if I lose that, am I even supposed to be here anymore? Is there even a point?)? What if everything is just so fucking wrong? I don’t know. I’m so afraid. And I used to talk to Justin (my fiance) about things but I don’t anymore. I can’t. I can’t talk to anyone. He probably doesn’t even know I still cut. Not that he needs to. It;s better if he doesn’t. Though really, he was the only one who ever knew in the first place. He was the only one who knew a lot of things but I don’t tell him any of that anymore. 

I know some of it is probably due to coming back to this place. I came back after university because financially, it was the best option. It was the best option to come back while taking a year off before grad school. (Except things didn’t work out and so far that has turned in to two years and at this rate it might become three god help me) But I knew returning here would not be best for my mental state. This place was never a home. Never. And there are so many triggers and bad memories and feelings associated with this place. Even the fucking trees along the sidewalk. Even the fucking sidewalk. There is so much negativity burned into this place. There is so much I tried so long to desperately escape. I knew coming back would be hard. I was even terrified of it. I never wanted to come back here. And then after my dad died... it just added to how much I didn’t want to come back. I can’t even find words to describe how much I resent this place. 

I love my puppy. I love my family. I love my mom (though it’s truly best if we are far apart are rarely see each other, but I do still love her dearly, don’t get me wrong), but this place is not good for me. It feeds my demons. It fuels my fears. It’s a place that never felt like home and never will. I found home when I left. This, this place could never be home. And it can never be happy. It’s too tainted. It’s too dark. It carries too much of the hell I once knew and it’s toxic. And I feel trapped. Suffocating. Like I can’t get out. Like it has me by the limbs and it’s holding me here refusing to let me go. Like I’ll never be free again. It threatens to take everything I tried and worked so hard for and destroy it and sometimes I feel like I might let it. And fuck now I’m crying. But literally. I just. It sounds so stupid to be afraid of a place. My mom thought so too. When I tried to explain why I didn’t want to come back here after university. No one listened. And I gave in because they had a point. Financially, it was the right decision. Maybe it was the right one regardless. But then again, my mom doesn’t know anything about my demons and I will never tell her. I don’t want her to know. I’m not really sure who I’m protecting, but I will never tell her. So she can never truly understand why I didn’t want to come back. 

Not that it would matter if I did tell her. It would probably just start a fight and somehow, one way or another, I would end up the terrible child who is unappreciative and just plain downright terrible and useless. And it would somehow end up about all her and my issues wouldn’t even matter and I would just be terrible. Or I would be chased down or things would just get violent or I don’t even want to think about it. It would just end up like any other time I try to talk to her. Please don’t get me wrong, I love my mom. She has done a lot for me and I am forever grateful... but like I said, it’s better if we are apart. It’s better if there is little more to our relationship than occasionally phone calls maybe once a month. Even that can be disastrous. But it’s not her fault. 

Though things have been worse since my dad passed. Of course, he often acted like a referee between us and that’s no longer there so that doesn’t help. But of course, things have been harder on her and with my nana’s situation too, it’s a lot of stress and I get that. I do. And I try to be good and at least do something. I try not to be a completely useless worthless piece of trash. I’m just not very good at it I guess. Or I don’t try hard enough. Or what I think is useful isn’t enough. I’m trying though. I’m doing as much as I can. And I’ve done my best to hold myself together.

But that’s also been hard. After my papa (my moms father) died, I held myself together for her sake. I did the best I could. After my dad died too. But I don’t really want to talk about that right now. My point is, I’m trying. It’s just not enough. I don’t know how to do enough. I don’t know how to not terribly fuck shit up constantly. 

Maybe I’m just stupid and childish. Okay, I am stupid and childish but not the point. Or maybe it is. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. Everything I thought I figured out, I don’t know. Everything is a mess, I think I’ve relapsed, I’m unsure of everything and worried all of it is one big fucking mistake and I don’t know how to get out of this shit hole. And there is so much more going on I don’t even have the strength to rant about right now. I just feel tired. But I always feel tired. And having mental disorders on top of everything going on is just stupid. Why do I have to be autistic? Why does ADHD even have to exist? Why are are anxiety and depression things? And allergies...don’t even get me started on allergies. Those have been so bad this year and made me sick so many times I don’t even know anymore. I just want to curl up in a bubble. 

I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know if I want to know. I just feel like I’m constantly suffocating. And I used to have a song I listened to when I had anxiety attacks. I had a band I listened to when things were rough. And I can’t tell you how many times those songs probably kept me from cutting too deep or doing worse. How much those songs meant to me. But now I’m all conflicted inside. The lead singer of that band killed himself this year. So where does that leave me? I don’t even know how I feel about all of that yet and it hasn’t honeslty sunken in yet. To be honest, I’ve lived in such a hole and been so busy I didn’t even find out until a while after it happened. And it probably shouldn’t affect me. It’s not like I knew him. It’s probably stupid to feel anything. It shouldn’t even bother me. Why does anything even bother me? But still.... something about it does bother me. It bothers me and I don’t know what to make of those feelings. 

But it reminds me that I have a friend I haven’t heard from in probably over six months now. She had a lot of issues and I suppose she could be locked away in some treatment program again and maybe she doesn’t have any way to contact me... but she could also be dead too. Maybe her habits took her or maybe her own hands. How many friends would that make that I lost either of those ways? I don’t even want to think about it. She could be dead and I’m sitting here whining about all my little problems. Hell, the whole world could enter a nuclear war tomorrow and what the fuck am I crying about? But seriously... I’m starting to think.... leaving wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Except my dog wouldn’t understand. And it would cause problems and make a mess and no one needs me causing any more problems than I already am. Sure, it would be the last problem I ever caused...but still, Kiki wouldn’t understand. 

I should be sleeping right now. I have to take my nana to her appointment in the morning again. But... then again... sleeping is scary. When I do sleep anyways. The nightmares have been so terrible lately and so real feeling and so detailed. One time I woke up ready to scream because I thought I had actually been stabbed and felt the pain. Though honestly, that wasn’t even the worst of the nightmares. But I can’t seem to sleep without the nightmares lately. Try as I mgiht, they plague me everytime. I want them to stop. I’m tired of waking up anxious and terrified over something that isn’t real. 

Of course, that’s when I can sleep. My sleep has been more screwed up than usual lately and that’s saying something. Last week I was literally awake for five days with only a couple hours of sleep total. Most of the time it’s awake for three days and asleep for one. Of course, on the weekends and mondays I have to stay up so I can take the dog out between 3:30 and 4:30 whenever she wakes up and then feed her at 5 so my mom can sleep in on those days. I might not hear her bark if I fall asleep and setting an alarm would wake someone else up so I have to stay up even if I didn’t sleep for several days. And taking my sleeping pill isn’t exaclty an option for when I’m having trouble sleeping either. These days, sometimes it just doesn’t work or it makes me tired but I still can’t fall asleep. Other times it makes me tired for far too long or puts me to sleep too long. 

Lack of sleep is probably part of what has been making my anxiety attacks more frequent and depression worse but not much I can do about it. I’ve literally had insomnia since I was fucking born. Not even exaggerating. On the up side, at least I’ve made friends lately that I talk to and it helps some since for the past year I haven’t had any friends whatsoever. And honestly, I’m grateful for it because honestly, there have been a few nights when chatting with them has been the only thing keeping me from cutting deeper or just ending it all. Chatting with them has kept the anxiety attacks at bay multiple times. So even though things are getting worse in life right now, I guess, at least I have something to ease it. Otherwise I don’t know....

I guess on the other up side my neck pain hasn’t been too bad lately. Can’t quite say the same for my hand/wrist issue. But of course, typing, writing, using the mouse, putting weight on it, driving, or using it in general causes it to act up and the more I do those things the worse it gets. It’s rarely at that unbearable point though like it used to do. Still, I might have to go back to the doctor. I remember someone saying cortizone shots were something that had to be repeated. They weren’t a one time deal. I don’t know how frequent it has to be but it’s been three years and I don’t think they did enough of them in the first place. But even with good health insurance I can’t really afford to be seeing doctors right now so I just have to minimize how much I use my hand. Like I said, it still isn’t as bad as before. Just acts up, especially when I’m trying to take a lot of notes or write/type a lot. Like right now....

This was a pretty long rant. And I almost have to laugh because this isn’t even half the shit on my mind right now. It’s not even half the problems. It’s not even all the big problems. And that is somehow funny????? It’s not...but my dark humor over here is amused apparently. Laugh while crying.... fucking genius. 

Sorry, I’ll shut up now. I should really just fucking shut up forever tbh. Just done.

[treehugginglibrarian]

The Decade That Was Lost

I was chatting with a coworker on eclipse day while watching the world turn dark and, as is want to happen when talking with people who don’t know me well, he asked how long I’d been in the service and such. He then, only slightly jokingly, stated that I must have taken quite a pay cut coming from the military to librarianship. Far from being offended by the question, I answered it happily. Yes, I took an enormous pay cut. I took a $40,000 pay cut to get out of the Army. Even now, five years later, I make at least $30,000 less annually than I did when I was at Fort Drum. Yet, I live more comfortably than some of my non-military friends who likely make more than I do.

A couple weekends ago I was out with my family when my aunt, in a discussion about the troubles plaguing my generation, made a comment I have gotten all too used to: “You are doing well. You and Lesia have it together.” And I was forced to remind her, as I am often forced to remind people, that my ability to have it together despite making almost no money did not come without a price. My ability to take a $40,000 pay cut and bounce back from it is not something that was born out sheer grit and determination alone. My ability to make it through grad school working “only” 22.5 hours a week, with seemingly ample time to train for whatever triathlon had caught my eye at that moment, was not something I was gifted by a magical fairy who flitted down from a money tree.

These things came courtesy of a decade of my life that was lost, if you will, to a uniform that most people will never have routine contact with, let alone put on themselves.

Some background, first, so that my current-status as “high-functioning adult with her shit together” makes proper sense.

The average income of millennials varies by region, but no matter what region you look at millennials are never making more than $41,000, on average. In a couple states, they don’t clear the $20,000 mark. In most states, they are pulling in somewhere between $20k and $30k per year. This might go a ways towards explaining how millennials have managed to be the death of the car industry, the real estate industry, and the paper napkin industry. Bitch- we ain’t got cash for shit like houses, cars, and paper napkins! Not when paper towels are so much cheaper and so much more versatile. All jokes aside, many millennials really don’t have the money for a house. Even if they’re clearly making the money for the mortgage, evidenced by the fact that their rent is significantly higher than a mortgage payment would be, they don’t have the savings for the down payment. A fact that is compounded by the omnipresent being that is “student loans,” lurking behind basically every millennial’s dreams for a better tomorrow.

My income as a librarian is, with my new job, a hair over the average income for my state. I’m guessing it’s much higher than the average income for my region within the state, if the generally low cost of living in Cleveland is any indication. That’s step two (no, I didn’t skip one. I just haven’t talked about it yet) towards achieving the “American Dream” when you’re making money that’s stupidly shitty compared to the generations that came before you. What’s that? You’re not so sure that the money I’m making is stupidly shitty? I beg to differ, my friend.

The first real job I remember my father having was for a lovely company named Cray Research, in St. Paul, Minnesota. He worked for the government before that, but I was in my mother’s stomach and thus don’t remember it. Damn shame, too, since he worked for NASA and shit. Anyway, the pay that he made back then would, in today’s dollars, would be worth about $64,000 annually. As the average pay for a Software Engineer I working at Cray Research is listed on glassdoor as being a bit over $65,000 right now, I’d say new Cray employees have kind of gotten the shaft. The cost of pretty much the entire world has gone up exponentially, yet comparably speaking, Software Engineers aren’t actually doing that much better than before when they’re just starting out. Yet, they are doing significantly better than people who decided that computers just weren’t their jam.  

Average pay for a librarian in 1985 was the equivalency of $42,000 per year, about $4,000 less than the average pay a librarian makes right now is. Here’s where things get a little sticky, though. My dad, now 30 years into his career, makes about $140,000 a year. At least one of his previous jobs came with an offer of stock options which, when the company finally sold, netted him nearly a quarter of a million dollars. The furthest I could ever make it in my career is a library director, of some sort. The average pay for a library director is $87,000 per year. If I stay where I currently am, I would make less than that. Moving to another major city would possibly net me more money as a director, but could also come with a significant increase in cost of living. Larger library systems will pay larger salaries, but will also come with heightened stress levels and longer work hours. As a librarian, stock options are something I will never be able to take advantage of. We don’t get severance packages, working from home is rarely an option, and not all libraries actually offer comprehensive benefits.

I selected this field knowing that it wouldn’t make me rich and that I would always be doing worse, financially, than my parents. This issue, however, plays into a broader issue overall within my generation. We were told “Go to school!” without being told what to go to school for. No one specified, “Go to school for tech!” or “Go to school for engineering!” They said, only, “Go to school!” And so, to school we went. To study IT and biology and chemistry, sure. But, more often still, to study the things that aren’t going to net us a lot of cash but that made us happy. We studied English, literature, art, dance, theater, history, education, and so forth. The “Arts and Humanities.” The “Soft Sciences.” Looking back on it, most of us know it was completely absurd and wonder how we thought we’d make it with a degree in whatever the hell we selected, but with the little guidance we had been given, “Go to school!” those options all seemed perfectly viable at the time.

Whether those options ARE viable and whether any of those people are being paid enough, for the work they put in or the general level of satisfaction they tend to bring others with the work that they do, is a lengthy conversation for a different day. The short version is that I was required to have a Masters degree in order to start work in my field. My father was making more than twice the salary I am now before he was nudged into graduate school. We don’t just value tech “more” than other fields, we value tech exponentially more than other fields. Which means, eventually, tech is going to be oversaturated and we’ll actually end up with tech workers unemployed. It also means, eventually, our world is going to be slightly boring because, for all their genius, tech workers are not going to ensure we are entertained when we happen to turn off our devices.  

Ok, now that we’ve established that the money I’m making is stupidly shitty all things considered, let’s talk about this “American Dream” we’re all supposed to be chasing. A house, a white picket fence, a spouse, a dog, and 2.5 kids. That’s what it is, right? As established, step two in actually achieving that dream in today’s day and age is to live somewhere that has a cost of living that is insanely low. Which isn’t as easy as you would think. Most places with low costs of living have said low costs for a reason, namely, no one wants to live there. Odds are, if no one wants to live there it’s because there isn’t much in the line of employment there. I got lucky, sort of. I work in a field that just so happens to lay claim to Ohio as a stronghold and I live in a region that is, as we speak, rapidly gentrifying. Which means I’m living somewhere that isn’t complete shit, where I have easy access to most things I want, and I’m doing it for a reasonable price.

The average cost of a house purchased last month was $380,000. That’s the average. Remember the average salary of a millennial right now? That’s right, $41k was an average that was making it big. And that average belongs to Washington DC, a city not exactly known for particularly affordable housing. While this means that many houses were going for less than $380,000, it also means that some were going for far more. Moreover, we can be damn certain that a fair number of the ones going for significantly less were in cities that have less to offer in the way of job prospects, or were houses in need of significant work, effectively upping the purchase price by two or three times the stated cost of the house. In short, an “average” millennial salary is effectively incapable of purchasing an “average” house in this country. Which makes step three a rather obvious one, purchase someplace where the market is acting in favor of buyers.

My wife and I purchased in an arguably depressed neighborhood. This is, in fact, a separate issue from simply living someplace where the general cost of living is low. Generally speaking, the cost of living in Shaker Heights is lower than in many other urban areas in this country, because it’s still in a Cleveland zip code. That said, purchasing there is a financial nightmare. The taxes are exorbitant, the houses are beautiful but ancient, the prices are often insane, and the city itself borders on being a home owners association. Yet it is, technically, in the same urban region that we chose to purchase in. We purchased in a neighborhood with a struggling school district, a few houses that had been foreclosed upon, and a half dozen houses in the process of being renovated. Ours was one that had just been flipped. We made it cheaper still by taking out a home loan that didn’t require a down payment (see number one; alternatively, research an FHA loan and see if you’re eligible). At $90,000 we got a nice house, in an area that is trending upward, and now enjoy mortgage rates that are lower than our rent ever would have been. Even in a cheap ass city like Cleveland.

Aside regarding rent in this country: The average rent in this country for a two-bedroom apartment is a hair over $1,200 a month. A one-bedroom can be gotten for just under a thousand. Average rent in Cleveland, in general, is $762. A rental space with more than one bedroom is likely to cost more than that, and the addition of pets to a living space will up the rent by anywhere from $10 to $50 per month, per furry friend. The last place we rented came out to about $880 a month when all the “extras” were tagged on and it was, frankly, a shit hole owned by a slum lord. Even in an economically depressed area such as this, we can mortgage a newly renovated house for over a hundred dollars less per month than it cost us to rent a two bedroom hovel. This will not be true in all circumstances, for all people, or in all cities, though. Particularly for those who require minimal space, renting may be cheaper for them than purchasing. Okay, back to the point of all this!

“But, but, but,” you say, “I can’t live somewhere that’s economically depressed and has a shitty school system. Who will educate my kids?” Which brings me to step four in your quest for the “American Dream.” Accept that certain aspects of the American Dream are at odds with one another and that, right now, on the average millennial income, choices must be made. That’s right. If you’re making the average income of someone in my age bracket, and you don’t want to be shit broke, step four is to not have kids. The USDA estimates that a middle-income couple with two children will spend an average of $234,000 to get a child to the age of 18. Obviously if you don’t have the money to spend, you’re likely to spend less and be far less comfortable in your child-rearing venture. If you have more money to spend, precisely the opposite will be the case. No matter what end of the spectrum you are on, you are looking at tiny beings that are going to suck up somewhere around a quarter of a million dollars. Each. And that assumes that they get to 18 and you stop spending money on them. Fat chance there.

So yeah. Step four if you want to seem like a financially with it adult who is able to do adult things and live an adult life in whatever way they want is to not have small, adorable, screaming, loveable, financial leeches. At least, not until you’re well and truly ready, financially, to do so.

One of the most surefire ways to ensure you’ll be well and ready, financially, for adorable parasites at a young age, is to avoid taking on any debt that isn’t truly necessary. That’s right, I’m looking at you, college loans. Step five in living the seemingly put together life that my wife and I live is to ensure you take out no school loans. Because those things are expensive and consume about a quarter of your paycheck every month, it seems like. I don’t really know for sure since I don’t have any. I have a little bit of credit card debt, but that’s about it. I don’t even have a car payment anymore. It’s amazing how quickly you can pay shit down when you don’t have a school loan to make payments on! (Yes, I am being intentionally obnoxious with this one). From a financial standpoint, educational loans are probably the biggest ball and chain my generation has been saddled with, and they are undeniably the one that sets us the furthest apart from generations before us.

The average student today leaves college with $25,000 in loans, making it necessary to pony up $280 per month, assuming they’ve put themselves on a ten year repayment plant. That’s almost a car payment. For ten fucking years. And that assumes you only go through undergrad. Since undergrad is rapidly becoming necessary just to utter the words “would you like fries with that,” you can bet that a solid portion of my generation is carrying more school debt than that because they’ve been forced to go on for their Masters degrees before really even settling into their careers. For comparison, the average level of school debt people between 35 and 50 are carrying is about $20,000. That’s because they went back for their graduate degrees a decade into their careers, well after they had started paying on the initial student loans they took out.

In 1970, a year when the average annual income across all domestic industries was about $7,700, roughly the equivalent of $49,000 today, the average cost of a year’s education at a public, four year, institution was $358, or $2,292 by today’s standards. The average cost of tuition and fees for an in-state resident attending a state school was $9,650 for the 2016 to 2017 school year. Well over three times the average in 1970. Millennials are the most educated generation this country has ever produced, but are being paid an average of $8,000 to $18,000 less than the average income in 1970, while being expected to shell out at least three to four times as much for the education necessary for these, now paltry, earnings. As I said, avoiding the trap that is school loans may actually need to be steps one through “all the rest of them.”

So that leaves us with:

Step Two: Live somewhere cheap.

Step Three: Buy a cheap house, preferably while avoiding a down payment.

Step Four: Don’t have kids.

Step Five, aka, the MOST IMPORTANT STEP: Avoid student loans.

What’s Step One?

Join the military.

Joining the military won’t guarantee you a cheap house, as that will depend upon where you decide to purchase. It will, however, give you ready access to a loan system that comes with pretty low financing rates and the ability to waive the down payment if you feel so inclined. It also won’t prevent you from having children, but it will make them more affordable if you choose to have them, and make avoiding them easier if you don’t want them. Birth control will never be more than $8 a month through the VA system, and the average cost of $8,800 per delivery, even with health insurance, will be dramatically lower through the VA system. If you join and choose to stay in, your health care and your kids’ health care will be covered via TriCare. If you join the National Guard and choose to stay in, you can pay for this insurance option and enjoy much lower premiums than standard market insurance usually offers. So yeah, the military won’t prevent you from having screaming urchins but it will make them cheaper.

The military will also make it far easier to accomplish the most important task in your quest for today’s “American Dream,” avoidance of student loans. While my parents were kind enough to pay for the first year of my undergraduate degree, the military paid for the last three via scholarships and ROTC loans. In exchange for this, I gifted them five years of active duty service to include two spent in the middle east in one way or another. This was one year more than I technically owed them, which meant they then covered 60% of a dual Masters degree I obtained after coming off active duty. If I’d really wanted to, I could have applied for funding through the National Guard to cover the other 40%, but I didn’t want to owe them any more time than I was already going to be giving them. So instead, I pulled the extra 40% out of a savings account that still had some $30,000 in it from a year in Iraq in which I earned a lot of money, while having no dependents and no bills, and paid no taxes on any of it. The military gifted me a level of financial security that none of my civilian friends seem to be enjoying right now. But it did so at a bit of a price.

I lost most of my college years, absorbed by uniforms, rules, summer training rounds, and copious amounts of early morning exercise, and I didn’t even go to a military school. Sure, some of it was fun and much of my life was “the same” as any other students would have been. I was, by force, far more reticent with what I could do, how I could behave, and what I could engage in, though. I owed my education to the military and I knew, if I represented them improperly the punishment could well be expulsion from the program and the forced repayment of that money. Since they were paying for my tuition, my rooming, my board, my books, and providing me with a living stipend, this was a pretty terrifying prospect, financially. I knew that if I decided I really didn’t want to commission, my parents would help me with the process. I also knew that if I got kicked out of the program for poor behavior or poor performance, they wouldn’t be quite so generous.

I then lost most of my twenties to the Army itself. I rang in 23 while living in Israel, studying shit I never used again and learning that much of what the Army would later teach me about fighting insurgents was completely ineffectual. I rang in 24 while in Maryland, at training. I rang in 25 in Kuwait, on my way to Iraq. 26 and 27 were both celebrated up at Fort Drum, albeit with dramatically different groups of people since I was in different units for both birthdays. By the time I got to 28 I was off active duty and living in Ohio, where I proceeded to spend three years of my life giving the National Guard copious amounts of my time for what ended up being, when calculated out, often less than $4.00 an hour. I coupled that with a three year break from any sort of vacation, as they enjoyed sending me on working “vacations” to lovely events like Annual Training and Captain’s Career Course. I was into my 30th year before I finally took the uniform off, for good, and was able to live a completely normal life.

Ten years. Ten years is what it cost me to have what “looks like” the American Dream at the age of 32. Ten years that I will never get back. Ten years that are, in theory, supposed to be rather formative years of our lives. While I cannot imagine what my life would have been, what I would have been, had I not worn the uniform for those ten years, I didn’t do it for what it would bring me afterwards. I didn’t join the service thinking, “gee, this will really help me financially when I finally decide to get out.” Most of us didn’t. Some joined thinking the retirement plan would be nice, but very few joined realizing just how far ahead of their peers, financially, they stood to end up because of one decision made when they were 18 or 20 years old. Yes, my wife and I seem to have our lives together. And all we had to do to get to that point was forfeit ten years of my existence and an ongoing number of hers.

No one should have to do that to live comfortably in America. That is not the America that I lost that decade on behalf of. That is not the America that I, or anyone, should want to live in. We can do better. We must do better. We owe it to ourselves, and to the generation coming after us, to do better. My generation didn’t make this mess, but we will damn sure try to clean it up. While we’re doing so, perhaps the generations that did make this mess could do us all a small favor?

Shut the fuck up about how lazy you think we are. It’s a tired refrain coming from the assholes who got to come up in a country where one minimum wage job could secure you enough money to buy a home and raise a family, only to turn around and create a country in which financial success and parity is most easily and readily gained by sacrificing ten years of your life to a cause that is most certainly going to put you in a literal war zone. Your opinion on how we are living our lives isn’t just unwanted, it’s completely useless. The world you think we’re living in, the one you were raised in and brought your own children up in, does not exist anymore. And that is completely your fault. We are living in an economic disaster that you created. Since you refuse to take credit for it, the least you can do is shut the fuck up while we muddle through it. Or don’t. Frankly, I don’t care. Most millennials know the truth of the matter at this point. Bare that in mind the next time you wonder why “kids these days” have no respect for their elders.

Because, clearly, their elders never intended to have any respect for them.