keyboardpubes:

Okay, so, Gallery Girls is making me feel weird because they are around my age and they are doing shit for no pay and it’s amazing because I get paid a (comparatively) large amount of money to do their dream job. I’ve worked hard for it and I definitely did not have the financial support they do, but they’d kill for what I do. And what I do isn’t even that great, really.

But, despite being annoying hipsters, they have their lives sorted out? By that I mean, they have nice clothes, they have proper hair, they go to proper restaurants and bars and do things I feel I should be doing but only so rarely do, and they speak clearly and have competent social and conversation skills. They socialise a lot and have many friends they see frequently. I have friends like this who work in related jobs, but I’m just not like that and it makes me feel self conscious.

I mean, these girls don’t squirt ranch dressing into their mouths like I did this morning after breakfast. These girls didn’t go out grocery shopping in the tshirt they slept in like I did today. I spat a Mentos into the toilet an hour ago and it’s still there. I made a bagel with squeezey avocado for lunch because I can’t be bothered to sharpen the only knives I own that can get through an avocado skin.

Unless they’re clients with whom I’ve had an immediate rapport or with whom I have bothered to develop a long standing working relationship, I cut the chit-chat with a number of patented techniques I’ve fine tuned that make me appear to be too busy to interrupt. I’m still friendly, I just don’t care about anyone or anything that isn’t me. I want to do my job alone in a windowless room—preferably partially underground to maintain a low temperature working environment—without having to go to the trouble of shaving every day or brushing all of my lunch break crumbs out of my chest hair.

Part of me doesn’t give a shit, but at the same time I wish I did dress nicely and that I did have nice hair that didn’t look like Eddie Munster wearing a toupée no matter what is done to it, and that I did always bother to use my damn tongue to speak clearly instead of slackly drawling my Queensland accent through barely opened teeth, pushing my eyebrows up and down and going to the trouble of tightening certain facial muscles in order to appear animated and make my face match what I think other people expect to suit the words I am reluctantly saying. 

I come home so tired from all of that. It really is a lot of effort and concentration, I find, but it doesn’t seem to be for other people. Fuck going out and trying to buy nice clothes, fuck going to trendy bars and restaurants, fuck trying to appear like I’m well “put together”. I just want to work with what interests me, find a way to profit from it, then come home and drink booze in front of the tv without speaking.