I’m probably disgusting.  Traipsing about in ratty clothing, letting my unmentionables jiggle.  Speaking my opinions as if there’s a person in the world that gives a damn.  Shaving the sides of my head while I let my pit hair grow. 

I’ve had enough bad experiences to just give up.  I won’t.  I might have to travel further or pay more.  Giving up isn’t an option.  I can just fail later.  No one knows what my death looks like but me.  And I might be wrong.  The other option is to pretend I care what anyone thinks.

I’m tempted to get a Rick & Morty tattoo just because I don’t have a bad tattoo yet.  It’s like a free pass.  We all get one.  And I don’t think it’d be that bad.  I’m considering getting a quote and potentially a word balloon for the character.  “School isn’t for smart people.”  Spoken by an amphibian-like oblong greenish face in Season 2 during the “KEEP SUMMER SAFE” episode.  His arms are crossed while he says it because that’s the bored realization I should have had in 1996.  Instead I decided to shoot for the top of that echelon.

Spoiler alert: I fail.  I stumble forward with the momentum of my hopes and dreams to find myself in a fractured time-space continuum.  If you kept reading after the Rick & Morty reference, I assume you understand.  Part of me wants to please the early-90s drive to economically achieve my dreams while another aspect is caught up in the social norms of my Red State expectations of white women.  In my defense, I did everything right except procreate.  I married well to a good man.  I gainfully bought a house in a desirable location.  I established a social network of people to “KEEP UP WITH” and scored acceptable ratings.

At the end of it all I still have an empty feeling in my centre.  I know my purpose is dormant and my true meaning has not activated.