Green Grass

19 Nov

Why must the grass look so green and healthy on the other side of the fence?  I have spent the majority of my short life on the side opposite my current position.  I can remember standing where my gaze is directed now, staring back at where I currently stand, bitching about the condition of my grass.  I would look at my feet and say, “This grass is bullshit.  Gimme some of that green, green grass on the other side of the fence there.”

Now, here I am, on the other side of the fence, with a pathetic sense of Déjà vu.  If anything is consistent enough in this fucked up world to support an adage for as long as “The Grass is always greener on the other side” has been around must be cemented in some kind of truth.  I remember working at the pizza joint, thinking I was pulling in decent money, going home to see what my mom had bought for me to eat, turned on the TV my parents paid for and spent my hard earned money on drugs and fun activities.  AND I BITCHED ABOUT THESE DAYS.  During those times sprawled on the couch I would wonder to myself if life could get anymore lame.  I wanted to have my own place, make my own rules, pay my own bills and answer to no one.  Even though my parents have always been the coolest people around, I wanted them to have nothing “on me.”  I was unhappy being dependent, so I figured I would be much happier as an independent ‘adult’.

Some things fell into place for me and I was able to land a steady gig that I felt allowed me to finally realize my dreams of independence, of freedom.  I bought the shittiest hellhole apartment I could find.  And as my parents eased me into paying my car insurance, student loans, car payments, food, dental, medical and all the other expenses I had simply not accounted for, I realized that I might just be a dumb person and was in no way prepared to care for myself.  I swiftly accepted that I was not as intelligent or street savvy as I had thought, but also recognized I was way too stubborn to admit to anyone that I had no business trying to pretend to be mature and responsible.  I was to stick it out, bitching the whole time.  I was poor, hungry and my apartment was kept at an unchangeable 105 Deg. F.

I demanded a raise.  Because it was money and money alone that was holding me back from being as happy as I had imagined I would be.  If I could just cover all those extra bills I didn’t plan for, I would be good as gold.  With a couple more thousand a year, I would get a bigger apartment, some decent furniture which would no doubt lead to a sexy girlfriend who would love the calm, settled-down lifestyle that I brought to the table.  Yep, Mo’ Money Le’ Problems.

I got the raise.  And a substantial one at that.  At about that time, my car exploded.  No worries, good timing actually, I can afford a new car!  The Subaru was purchased in October and after 4 months I had put in an additional $800 in repairs.  But what about the warranty, you may ask?  I didn’t buy one so go fuck yourself.

The car, mixed with the rental of a habitable apartment, and the constant stream of bills have kept me feeling below the poverty line.  From what I understand, from what the elders tell me, I am doing well for my age, and important people in my life seem to be genuinely proud of me.  This has led me to consider that the only thing lame about my life is my perception of it.  And, if unchecked, this current path of holding those things I can’t do and don’t have in higher regard than those things I can do and do have, I will doom myself to chasing a dream that exists nowhere in reality. Its like wanting a girl because you know you can’t get her.  When I was poor and careless I yearned for  responsibility and independence.

Now in the soft cradle of independence I long for those days of heedlessness and empty self-worth.    I hope this kept some kind of common theme, cause I really did have a point when I started all this.

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