The Clock Won Again Today

The clock won again today.

I sat there at that desk again, watching the minutes slip by and feeling myself fill with hate for the job and the meaningless monotony of saying and doing the same thing over and over again, day after week after month. (Good God, or god, whichever one is dialed in right now, have I really worked here a year?) I hate myself for falling back into the call center trap after swearing and promising myself that I'd never do it again once I started college, a bitterness followed by this horrible seizing outrage that I'm sacrificing my happiness doing something I despise instead of taking a risk for what I love and honoring the whole reason I moved to California in the first place. I'm a creator at heart and the most creative thing I get to do at my job is add colors to my schedule once a month. What kind of shit is that?!



I saw some meme or whatever on social media recently that basically said you are selling hours of your life for a certain dollar amount, so whatever you're doing better be worth it. Well holy shit, if that ain't a kick in the ass then I don't know what is. For a long time I didn't know what I wanted to do because there were so many appealing options that I was incredibly indecisive. That's all changed now. I know what I want to do. I want to help people, by broadening perspectives and changing minds of people who oppress and hate those who are considered outsiders. I want to create art, I want to create films and videos that represent me and the people I know, from the walks of life that I think are familiar to a lot of people, so that they see themselves represented somewhere and feel some sense of community through my work. And hey, maybe they'll be inspired to come together and build a community, or maybe they'll be inspired to use their own voice and create their own art. I don't know what could happen but the even the possibility of such a thing happening is worth taking the risk. I know that's what I truly want to do. I feel it in my soul.

What I do not want is to sit there listening to faceless strangers yell at me about things that I have no control over and cannot change. The irony is that their frustration in my lack of ability to solve their problem is mirrored by my own frustration in the procedures I have to follow which restrict me from helping them resolve their issue despite my very genuine desire to do so. I want to change the world through art and I'm answering phones talking about flat tires and deluminated brake lights? Is this really what I'm doing with myself right now? That's not what I signed up for at all, and it certainly isn't what I came here for. No no, I need to get the hell out of this job. It's been building for months and I can't ignore it anymore. At this point I don't even think it's this job specifically, I think it's anything related to a call center and having to say "How can I help you?" It's time to help me.

Yet despite every urge I have to quit, to finally say "ENOUGH!" is undermined by the necessities of life. I have to pay rent.  Bills are due. I need gas and food. No big deal really, just the aspects of life which are increasingly unavoidable and unaffordable, and so the torture continues. A ringing phone has transformed into a metronome of wasted potential and squandered opportunity, an annoying reminder of those same accursed financial obligations which bind me to this cesspool of hopelessness known as my job. I've got to escape. I've got to get out. But how? What to do? Where to go? It's a neverending story.

Meanwhile that fucking clock ticks ever on, beating me over and over again.

Perhaps I'll win tomorrow.