Sat down in front of your computer, with an empty textbox suggestively glaring in your direction, occasionally bending its neck slightly backward, rolling its eyes and then quickly bringing its attention to a watch that is knocking seconds down like dominoes as you hopelessly fumble with what you’re trying to convey. You know you have something to share, but the manner in which you’re trying to do so is evading you. The truth is, you know exactly what you’re trying to say. Every last word of it. You’re just preventing yourself from saying it for one of two reasons 1) You don’t want to confess what you’re truly feeling or 2) You’ve set an artistic standard for your venting sessions, so much so that you refuse to vent your emotions unless it’s done so in a way that seamlessly weaves your thoughts together in a neatly packed arrangement of emotions, resembling some kind of college essay. Before this post started, the latter was my problem. But for where I am at the moment, my response to that is “fuck it.”

I’m very unsatisfied with my career progress and I have absolutely no idea how to remedy it. My cum laude degree perpetually stares at me and I have no clue how to deliver it the justice it deserves. Everything I do is halted by a technicality of a system that I have no desire to partake in. It’s an endless paradox of people, whispers, x’s, o’s and utter bullshit and I have no patience for it anymore. I’ve been handcuffed since the day I graduated and unfortunately, it makes me wonder why I even bothered in the first place.

There you go.