journal entry #12: f*ck off.

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i check my phone every friday morning and every friday morning i’m disappointed. another week? i refresh my emails every ten minutes in hopes something has changed. did i send those writing samples? friday is usually the day that places of potential employment tell hopeful applicants to “fuck off and have a nice weekend.” maybe those aren’t the exact words but the sentiment remains the same. we don’t want you.

maybe its my millennial disposition but i take rejection personally. each email beginning with “at this time, we have filled the position with another candidate” or “at this time we are pursuing candidates whose qualifications more closely match our current needs,” reminds me of being a shorty. back in summer camp when piérre picked teams, i’d wait around but was never picked. that time i sent the homie to ask my crush how she felt about me and he returned with the grim news, she liked me as a “friend.” it all feels the same doesn’t it? fuck off, you’re not good enough. 

i hate my job. it represents everything i loathe about the world. i’m in the retail world, unfortunately. most of my shift involves me begging God to save me. this can’t be my existence. during a mid-day rush i zone out. meaningless tasks are completed in a zombie like trance until its time for me to go. i’m in an emotionally numb state until i cross that threshold to freedom. my face remains blank for most of my day. i fake smiles and laughs just so people will leave me alone with my thoughts. 

working a job has never been my bag but life demands that we sacrifice and i am not exempt. i want to spend my life being creative and all that entails. in the midst of my pleading with God i wonder, have i sacrificed enough? as i search for the answer, my blood begins to boil. of course i have. again, my memory betrays me. like home movies, the memories start to roll. the days where a naive me would only want to create and never think about the business. i never thought to ask so what’s the bugdet? how much am i getting paid for this? to be honest i thought i never had to. i snap out of it before it’s too late.

i leave work everyday wanting to quit. i’m underpaid and undervalued. my patience tank is running on empty. i was told not to carry anger around so i don’t. but every time friday rolls around i get frustrated, disappointed, slightly pissed. i’m tired of begging God. i’m tired of checking my email, hoping for something that may never come. i’m exhausted but i can’t give up because i’m not wired like that. in the meantime i’ll just fantasize about me sitting in front of my laptop. the subject line reads: two week notice. my fingers click-clack away as i type the most gentle two week notice telling my company to fuck off.

Kelvin Hicks