I want to go to Yankland. I want to have nice dresses. I miss my nice skin. People used to come from miles around to admire my skin. I miss that. I want nice feet. I want to stop at my fingers. I want to not have this perpetual headache, this constant lethargy, this unease. Let these exams pass by in a blur, please. I am so very, very tired of them. I want to cry. Not because I’m going to get such woeful results in August, but because I honestly don’t care anymore and they are just draining me completely.
I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Maybe I want to write. Maybe I want to work in the wireless. I don’t know. Is it wrong to not be all that interested? A job is just a job. I know that you will spend most of your time doing that job but I don’t know. I think I will prefer life outside work. Family. Friends. Relaxing. Adventures. Most people don’t like their job. I don’t mind. Well, actually, I don’t know if I mind, if I will mind. I have no idea what I’m talking about.
The LC has me driven utterly insane. My body and brain are in meltdown mode. I want out. Thanks but no thanks, academia. We’ve had a good run but I’m quite full: I’m going to go take my chances with illiteracy and the great outdoors. By which I mean the great proverbial outdoors. Life and that.
Are there any vacancies for poets in the current economic climate?