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I woke up today feeling exhausted. I was finally able to finish up work and got home late at 830pm. I started work, at my desk, at 8am. I often tell people that it doesn’t seem to matter when I start. I won’t be off work until after 6, every time.

My parents said I should take my birthday off and just sleep in. I really like that idea. Mom wanted to know what else I’d like to do, and I said “/sigh… nothing.”

Actually mom, I’d like a kitten or two. I’d like my own place. I’d like to be able to buy you a car. I’d like time to prep for grad school applications. I’d like to take classes in my spare time that I don’t have. I’d like to find a nice fireplace to cozy up to and read books all day.

But instead I’m fighting to survive. I’m paying debt and bills, insurance, taxes, groceries. Im drowning in the everyday things of life, my job, the people in my immediate vicinity, biweekly meager paychecks, and just trying to get by.

I’m trying to work my life to the point where I can afford the things I want, things that a lot of people typically have and that my generation is struggling to attain; they simply require time and money that I don’t have right now, no matter how hard I work, how long my hours are, or how many years and credentials I have obtained in the field.

I know something has got to change and I’m working on it. I used to be one of those starry eyed idealists who thought you should follow your dreams and that anything was possible. But I look at that list of the simple things I want out of life and how everyday is a painful reminder that this thing I thought I’d love to do can’t even afford the most basic necessities in life.

I don’t enjoy my life. And I guess all I can really say from this is that I derive joy from simple pleasures in life, and that my job devouring so much time in my day devoids this life of meaning.

It’s an empty existence and I tell myself, going into work, pulling on my lab coat, to the job I thought I’d love, I’m just a shell. One of those cogs on a wheel.