I'm working on writing an album of songs with a working title of "Sociohipster Blues" featuring works such as "Gentrification Blues," "My Pabst's All Gone," and a nouveau "Working Man Blues" with a twist on the classic condition highlighting the difficulties hipsters have with maintaining real jobs while having a vibrant social life and paying for their drinking habits.
My own personal "Working Man Blues", however, has little to do with that problem. Mine focuses on the fact that I just don't seem to have an attention span and/or any particular talent at the things I end up doing.
For example, the latest casualty of my resume is construction work. Yes, little ol' me has been trying her hand at physical labor. And to tell you the truth, I don't think I'm really bad at it. My problem is, well, 1) I'm not very experienced so I tend to have too heightened an attention to detail and 2) I'm not very experienced so things take me forever and I have to ask a lot of questions. Easy, you say. You'll get it, you just need to stick with it for a while more is all. But here's where problem number three comes into play, which is the fact that I'm easily discouraged. Easily frusterated. Prone to throwing up my hands and biting my thumb at the world if I'm not great at what I do the first time I try it. (This is in part because I'm great at a lot of things the first time I try them.)
And when some old bat with unrealistic expectations and poor capability to express what she wants tells my boss (who is a very close friend of mine,) that she doesn't want me on the job anymore, I become a defeatist.
Which is where I'm at now, so indulge me:
I am bad at everything I do. I am slow. I am unreliable. I suck at life except when I'm drunk. I'll never pay off my debt to MLG&W. I'll never move out of my parent's house. I'll never be able to meet a man. I'll live with my parents forever. I'll be a fucking spinster in a rocking chair on the front porch in Mississippi, except I'll be the sort of eccentric spinster who's drunk on gin & tonics by 10:00am and has 16 cats living in her bedroom. The kind with lipstick twelve shades to dark circling her mouth because her perception has long-been altered and, to her, it is beautiful.
When I started this I was only looking for work again. Now I'm looking for a shrink and a husband. I better stop before I'm buying shotguns off eBay.
posted by pulpfaction