I have been intending to write my résumé for months now. I even swore that I would do it today. Half the day is done, and I’m busy in the other half. By busy I mean doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing other than overthinking and wishing for the stars while I hangout with you my virtual friends. So Chances of starting that résumé today is zero!Postponed again, try again tomorrow.
On a serious note, I don’t know why I don’t have a résumé well written and tucked somewhere at least. Even for safekeeping sake. I will need more than inspiration, the fear of the Lord my mom has been trying to instill, threats from my BFF and a guilty conscience to get it done. If someone who is totally not me asks me to do their résumé, I will gladly do it, it will be well written and articulated with legit referees and shit. All they have to do is ask, and kaboom! I start spewing words to convince someone to hire them. I will even do tutorials on what to say, do etc etc etc on interviews.
I don’t have my résumé well written and tucked somewhere like every other sane young adult looking for employment but what I have is Even better. I have a lie I tell myself every night before I go to bed, “you will do it tomorrow Riri, you will find a job, you will be a proper adult”. Then I say a prayer and doze off. Or I doze off saying a prayer, my nights are not all the same. Sometimes I forget to tell myself the lie, I skip the prayer and go straight to sleep.
Do I have a job? No. Am I looking for one? I should be. How do I get by? Living each day at a time, slaving for my little brother here and there on the days that end with y. Do I have a plan? Hmmm… Well, I should but I don’t. I don’t even know if I will be given the power to read and write, that is graduate by the end of the year. I don’t even know what I will have for lunch today or if I will even have lunch at all. I just want to sleep my life away, watch spongebob shows, eat substandard food once in a while and dream about Samburu.
I haven’t gone to Samburu yet, I will head there soon, I hope. The year is almost over and I haven’t done have the shit I said I would, 2016 deserves a little justice that’s why I have Samburu as top priority. I Didn’t loose weight, ran away from the big city, no written résumé, no real job, no hopes at least I have dreams. Let’s find out what goes on in Samburu, I will keep y’all posted in graphics(if and when I get a camera) and words(those I can spew and bleed anytime). Maybe I should start my own YouTube channel on the Samburu cause. Can somebody lend me their Nikon 570 or whatever. I promise to bring it back, hopefully in one piece.
So, soon, I will write my résumé. Maybe tomorrow or the day after or some clock next to never. I don’t know, in one way or another I will have to get it done. Or may be I won’t, maybe I will magically afford one way plane ticket to NYC, try my hands on writing. Or maybe I will magically afford a ticket to Las Vegas and kick off as a stripper. Or maybe I will finally write my resume, do my internship, become a nutritionist and just make momma proud.
Here’s how i imagine the versions of myself that pick either of the three paths will die
The version of me that kicks it off in Vegas as a stripper gets disown by dearest mommy, brothers and sisters. A bunch of people will show up, try saving her from self destruction. They all epically fail in saving me, everyone finally moves on. I find a stripper best friend who looks out for me. We try our hands winning the lottery once in a while which we both loose. She has a good heart, my bff in this life, so she finds someone who get saves her. I let her go, and promise to follow suit in future. I don’t, so I end up dying due to an overdose. My body or bones is discovered a few day or months or years later. They can’t trace where I came from, no one claimed I was missing or anything. If I’m lucky, what’s left of me is dumped in a public cemetery somewhere. A few years later, my stripper best friend shows up looking for me, no one remembers I existed before….. Blank.. Blank… Blank… I just disappeared on the face of earth like that. That is what happens ti me in this life Or at least the Hollywood version of my story in that life.
The version of me that goes to NYC will be addicted to coffee(just like my current self). She will smoke a pack of cigarettes everyday, drink too much cheap wine, club hop every day chasing shots of whiskey and setting sunsets, anything, anything that will inspire bleeding words. I will probably fall in love with all the things that make me bleed, self destruction is one epic source of inspiration. In this life, I ruin myself grandly but slowly. I get to kill my lungs, my liver, and fall in love with all the things that break my heart. If I ever get to finish a book or two or more, my death won’t be in vain, there’s a chance the words I spewed will start selling. I will be dead, famous and rich, in that order, how about that? I don’t know how to romanticize my death in this life. Maybe it will be lung cancer, liver failure, obesity or one epic road accident after a night of drinking too much and driving. Again, in this life I get to die alone.
Then there’s a version of me that lives my mom’s dream. In this life I get to write my résumé, I get a job, get married, pop a few kids, retire and die. At least I don’t get to die alone, I will have loved ones to eulogize my death, a few to mourn my demise and a legacy that lives on to posterity and beyond. The legacy part is not because I pulled a mother Theresa or anything, I don’t even get to be a saint. I don’t get to leave a legacy because I saved humanity from self destruction or anything interesting. In this life I live on through the kids I popped. The greatest thing I get to bless the world with are a few babies. I will boss them around so they could follow on my doorsteps, then hope to God they get to do the same thing for their kids. See? I get to live on, just like my greatest greatest greatest greatest greatest grandmother who had another long line of greatest bla bla bla… We are all here because somebody got laid! So, I live on!
PS. Overthinking is not a real word, there’s a space between over and thinking. bff is not even a thing, it’s suppose to be BFF and it means best friend forever.
Just Another Rumble