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March 28, 2005
You can check out any time you like, but you may never leave
3/28/05
So I got this job. It’s pretty cool—ideal, in fact. Excellent pay & benefits (the annual salary is quite close to the sum of my previous life earnings), incredibly bright and cool boss and coworkers. The work is (get this) interesting, it heavily draws on both my educational and military experiences, and I’ll get to eventually get to see the fruits of my labor put to good use in near real-time—possibly to life-saving effect. There is ample opportunity to travel on their dime (but only if I want to) and I even get a 401(k).
Having said that, I’m now going to pose the version of the existential question that we twenty-somethings have blindly corrupted: “Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”
The Tyler Durden had this conversation with himself after blowing up his apartment and relocating to a house that reminded me of my old barracks. He remembered talking to his dad. “Go to college,” he said.
“Check. Now what, Dad.”
“I dunno. Get Married.”
That’s where Tyler’s dad stopped offering advice. What else is there?
Breathe—Check.
Eat—Check, check.
Procreate—Check.
Get Married—Check.
Bail out of a C-130 in the middle of the night (33 times)—Check.
Go to college—Check.
Get a job—Check.
Buy life insurance to fund the grossly overpriced baking of my corpse—Hey, that reminds me—here’s my living will, the short, short version:
As long as I know what a plug is, don’t touch my fucking plug. If there’s any doubt, get more opinions. Remember, at least 30 are required for statistical significance.
If I tell you I want to die, gimme a couple months to think it over.
After the fact, put my ashes somewhere where there will never be a subdivision
If there’s a holy person presiding over the funeral, he/she may not make any reference to “the Lord,” heaven/hell, Jesus of Nazareth, or “salvation.” (Enlightenment,” however, may be mentioned)
Make sure that my daughter knows that I love her and she is expected to be fluent in at least two languages and one instrument by age 15
Well, it’s settled then—got a ship to catch. Next stop: Hotel California.
Posted by james at March 28, 2005 09:49 PM
Comments
Next step: raise child to be much better at this shit than we are. Teach her everything you know, and tell her to go further with it.
Posted by: uncle jarrad at March 28, 2005 11:54 PM
Only 2 languages?
Posted by: Wifey at April 6, 2005 11:52 PM