Today was my last day. And with nothing down the pipe, May 22 ends a (barring the occasional vacation and surgery) streak of full-time work that began, I think, September 9. I knew that I would regret complaining about the hard work test scoring as soon as it's over, and I think I will.
But right now I am only looking forward to fucking spend money on strippers like it's about to suffer 100% inflation.
It's probably due to the fact that my parents aren't here, and maybe also that they will come back next week. But I don't remember the last time I have gone hardcore stripclubbin' on a holiday weekend. Before, when my parents had The Store but decided to go to Las Vegas for holidays, such as Memorial Weekend, I would make sure I go to as many strip clubs as I can. I get to revisit those fun times now, and I am so looking forward to it. And that I have Friday free helps a lot. That means I can go downtown and visit My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) and finally cash on the handjob from *******a that I couldn't come to the last time I got my dick wanked from her because it was the day after I got this rubber band stuck up my ass.
---
This might be weird to say, but here goes nothing: While winding down this project, I was looking more and more forward to this particular weekend. I keep complaining about how my checking account continues to shrink despite all my days working, but I have no qualms pissing it all away on strippers till next week. And I have to admit I was daydreaming about strippers, and this upcoming weekend, while at work. Then I would catch myself and I have to focus again.
That's when I realized something: Regardless of how productive I feel, and no matter how good I was at work (and I think I did a good job, and my co-workers agree, and I really do appreciate their support), that is not me at my happiest. What I'm about to do this weekend is me at my happiest. If I could work as a guy who whips out his dick in the hopes a naked woman will jerk at it until I ejaculate, I would be the happiest guy on planet Earth. And if I have to pay my way around the world in order to do that every day instead? OK, sounds fine to me.
That is the real me, if that makes any sense. Not this socially awkward, sort-of nice, very weird guy I was at work, or over the phone. I am an unmitigated, unapologetic, antisocial pervert, and I am pretty goddamn proud of it (assuming I remain anonymous). And I will luxuriate at finally being who I really am until my family comes home and the money runs out. It will be at that point where Superman puts back on his civilian clothes and walks through life as Clark Kent once again.
No comments:
Post a Comment