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I’m not entirely sure what this blog will be about. Perhaps just life in general. I’ll be amazed if anyone actually wants to read it!

To an outsider looking in, my life isn’t that complicated. I work in a cafe and I come home and play Call of Duty: Black Ops. I fart around with my roommate Lindsay. Sometimes we drink sparkling wine. I use Snapchat a lot, mostly to talk to people I met on CoD, or send Lindsay ugly closeups of my face along with a complaint, or a filter that makes me look like something nothing should ever look like.

I don’t particularly like working in a cafe, or in service in general, but it’s the best job I’ve had in over a decade. I’ve always felt that I am working in jobs that are not right for me. I initially wrote “jobs that are beneath me” but that doesn’t feel like my own belief. I think that’s due to my dad’s influence. He’s always acted as if he were better than others, and he’s always acted as if I, too, should be better than others, and always acted bewildered when I didn’t do things magnificently or even averagely. Even though I did do a lot of things magnificently (and many things averagely)! I am an artist, and a damn good one. I can draw anything I see. I’ve always been good with writing and grammar even though I don’t fully understand the ins and outs of it all. In short, I am good at mimicry. I can copy things, but I don’t always understand them.

Lately it’s been hard to mimic being a normal person. It’s been hard to fake it. I get home from hundreds of social interactions at work and I rethink and overthink the most notable, and I kind of want to die. What is it all for? Why do I need to try so hard to make a connection with people who are determined not to connect? I gain nothing from it. Even when I do make a connection with someone, the little baby happy feeling I get from it is so miniscule that it just doesn’t feel worth it. It feels too intimate. Even talking about the weather, which I must say, gets old really fast. Every time I hear myself talking about it, I roll my eyes inwardly.

My manager feeds on these tiny interactions. She eats them up as if they are her life source, and it’s enough to keep the jerks from affecting her too badly. I wish I could be like that. I wish I could be content with such simple social pleasures and not dwell on each individual asshole that crosses my path. I want to punish each and every one of them and often have some snarky remark right at the tip of my tongue. I’ve always been happier alone, always been happier being an observer rather than a participant. I watch quietly, I observe, and I record. I get overwhelmed easily because I know this life is not for me. Constantly making money just to live, faking interest in the life of strangers, making coffee all day for people who cheat themselves of actual sleep and self care. Do I think any of us would work in a cafe if we didn’t need to? Actually, yes! I believe there are people who really do live for bringing joy and comfort to strangers, making friends with those strangers and ignoring the jerks. Just because I don’t understand it or fit in doesn’t mean it’s not important.

I think I’m done writing for today, but I feel like I’ll do it again sometime. I made this account 3 years ago and never wrote a thing, though, so…don’t hold your breath.

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