On working 3 jobs and masochism
The 3 "jobs" being my 1) full-time SWE job, 2) teaching in my MFA for tuition remission & paltry stipend, and 3) unpaid MFA shit that I supposedly love doing, which involves going to class and workshopping and writing my dumb thesis.
It is so much work. SO MCUH FCKUNG WROK!!! These days, I do not do anything but eat, shit, work, and work-sleep. But, like, I did this to myself. It's a choice. It's a choice I make consciously everyday. No one is putting a gun to my head to do this 1. But I'm going to bitch about it anyway.
Everyone tells me how what I'm doing seems ~so amazing~ and ~so smart~ and ~literally insane~ and yes, by all means, continue stroking my ego, but I do think it's an indicator from my unfathomably deep and infinite wishing well of mommy and daddy issues. The desire for endless performative productivity is a curse in which I am quenching my thirst with sea water.
Anyway, it sucks. Work is cheeks. Work blows ass. But what day job doesn't suck? Okay, I guess my therapist claims he likes his job, but he's legally and medically and ethically required to say that if he knows what's good for his paycheck (though I do notice his eyes glaze over when I talk about my mom or my MFA cohort for the 9999th time).
And I write because I supposedly love writing, but sometimes I find that questionable too because there are days where I don't want to do it (as an aside, the thesis writing is not going well...JSYK!!!!! Which is why I started this dumb blag). And you might be thinking: well, I bet Ishy's writing sucks.
UM, OKAY, MAYBE MY NOVEL-IN-PROGRESS IS A DUMPSTER FIRE ATM. BUT MY WRITING DOESN'T SUCK!!!!! I am actually, like, so prolific!!!!! Published in top lit mags no one reads with acceptance rates of < 0.5%!!!!! 2 And I've had agents reach out to me!!!!! Okay, just ONE agent. A junior agent. But they were from a really big agency, OKAY.
I'm stating this somewhat facetiously, but it's still a testament to my hard work. Because I worked so hard for everything I have. My fully-funded MFA. My publications. My decent remote job that I have a love-hate relationship with. I work really hard and I get results. Because that's all that matters to me. Unfortunately.
If only I could be one of those type-B hippies that takes a hit from a fat monster dong of a joint before coughing out "the journey is the real joy/gift/friendships we've made along the way" while prismatic LSD butterflies flutter on their fingertips and, in the distance, on the Coachella main stage, Jimi Hendrix strums out a pitch-perfect rendition All Along the Watchtower. All that to say, appreciating "only the journey" is woo-woo to me without results. It sounds like an excuse lazy and cowardly people make to not get off their ass and actually try simply because they're afraid of work or failure or both.
And YES, I know that's not true. Plenty of people work hard, harder than I do, and often get nothing. But I am telling you that this is what I tell myself. That if I didn't get results, I just didn't work hard enough. It's sad. I am full of indescribable melancholy (and rage) about it.
I wish I didn't feel this need to min-max my life like this. Like I get off on everyone around me telling me I work too much and I need to rest. Do I need more therapy? Can I even get more therapy? Do I even have time for more therapy?
I'm not sure where I'm going with this TBH. I am glad I'm going into my last year and I'll be graduating soon because I am BURNING THE FUCK OUT LOL.
You know, I haven't smoked a bowl in 7 years. I kind of miss it. I'd probably be a happier person if I just took a hit and ate some goddamn Flamin' Hot Cheetos.
One MIGHT argue that my disorganized attachment and insatiable need to prove something to my aging immigrant parents before they die is making me do all this, but that's a post for another time.↩
I feel safe to brag a little here (even though I never do in real life and can't take a compliment without wanting to commit seppuku) because no one I know will read this.↩