Voices

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't like what I do for a living -- for pete's sake, I designed this position. But the monotony...the lack of outdoors. The putting up with other human beings that hate their lives so much they want to spread their hatred to the rest of the world...

I got an interview for my friend's son. She wants him out of the house and making more money. He, apparently, wants to keep being a lifeguard until a really cool, creative, star-level media job comes up (good luck with that!). While I tried to talk some sense into him (make money during the day and keep doing radio at night if you really like it) I was encouraging only half-heartedly. I kept thinking back to what motivated me to move out to Alaska. The I-don't-care-about-rent-it-will-work-out-somehow drive. It' s not that it's gone, it's just that I got tired of eating crap and not buying clothes and looking at other people with boring jobs but better social lives because they could afford to dress like girls.

But I'm worried I've filled up that drive with meaningless crap. I have tons of teapots, art on the walls and about two thousand art projects, all in full-swing. I'm trying so hard to build something, but when I look back on it, what will I have when I finish?

Sometimes, when I sit here typing up scripts and reading asinine emails, I have to fight the urge to just get up and walk out -- not for the day, not for a few hours. Just leave the computer on and walk out and never come back. Spend the house down-payment money on a trip to Europe.

But then who would pay rent, prescriptions, Anthropologie bills? How will I keep myself stocked in Benefit and Laura Mericer? What will I do when there are more bills than cash? Will I go back to eating Big Macs and tater tots that Nicole buys for me? Will we have to move to some apartment where the locals shoot at each other and I keep one eye open at night? Will I have to grow unsightly facial hair rather than pay the salon to rip it out on a routine basis? Will we never have a baby because we can't afford it or will we finally be able to afford it and can't get pregnant? What if I'm an awful mother and my daughter thinks I'm some sort of an evil disease?

What the hell? I can't tell if I'm having a mid-life crisis, a bad case of PMS or just a nagging case of my spirit screaming "You are in the WRONG place. Time to MOVE on." It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.