My eyes fly open every morning as I stare at the same crack on the ceiling, and a hot flash of fear rides my body like a wave. For a moment, my vivid dreams blend with reality and an excited confusion rushes to my cheeks as I imagine reality IS the dream. Then an icy fist clenches my quickly beating heart and whispers hopelessly in my ear, "Your life is a disaster."
It's not yet 9 am, but the crushing realization that life, the life I once dreamed of safe under my parents' roof, won't ever be realized and has hit me back down under the covers like a sock full of dead dreams and used batteries. I used to have sweet, hopeful dreams of a million future Maggie's. First and foremost, to be a famous female professional wrestler. I'd lie on my trampoline, staring at the blue skies and wind rocked trees and imagine the future where I broke boundaries as the first WWF star to firmly say a big fuck you to a boob job.
Ideally, all the future lives are Maggie as a 24 year old with fame, fortune, and just the right touch of charity and compassion. A completely enviable life; one where people ask to make reality TV shows about it, but she doesn't treat it like that. To her it's just normal, she eats her caviar one pound at a time just like everyone else.
I spend an obscene amount of time longing for the past, when the seconds ticked by at the pace of a 3 hour long Sunday fucking Mass. Where every second was the worst second, and you wanted to just fucking fall asleep or something rather then be awake for any more of this motherfucking bullshit. Now I grasp at days like I am trying to hold onto a cloud. Each unexceptional day passes as soon as it came, and I have yet to make the first step onto that ladder to happiness.
It could be that I am one of the millions of grown ass adults who feel like those dreams should just be handed to you. Well, fuck you, I am. You know why? Because I don't know what dream I should do this mythical "work" for. If I had that goal of what I wanted, maybe I wouldn't mind sitting behind a desk for minimum wage, as long as I knew that it would, some day, get better. Where was that moment in life where the cogs click into place and your young, eager footsteps get plopped onto the path to happiness? Somewhere along the way, my ladder forgot it needed a destination, not just to wind up in the sky.
I want to scroll back through each and every one of my life choices like a Choose Your Own Adventure book and determine where I went wrong. In fact, at that precise moment when alcohol became the forbidden fruit that I must have at all costs, I'd go ahead and discreetly remove it. Perhaps then the rest of the book wouldn't seem like a toddler dizzy on full-sugar soda figuring out how to con Mom and Dad into giving her more Halloween candy.
Maybe then college wouldn't have been an after thought to my raging FOMO, and I wouldn't have treated potential relationships more valuable than expensive missed classes. Most likely, one of those classes held the key to my locked future, and now I wallow bleary eyed in the swamp with the rest of the ladders to nowhere, barely registering the other forsaken souls.
So here I sit, in a dark room of a cold house located on the rainy Oregon coast somewhere. Waking up in a cold sweat realizing seven whole years has gone by working in restaurants. When I first became a server at 21, I looked at the older servers and said, out loud and probably drunk, "If I become a lifer, I'll kill myself." After all, I technically had graduated from a very prestigious college, and I was now employed among high school drop outs. And yet, each day that goes by I do not think to myself, "today's the day," or, "let's get motivated," something to that effect. Because I would not know what to make of "the day". Get motivated for what? Today's the day to do...? None of those bullshit motivational speeches actually mean anything. Make changes, find what you love, get up and do something instead of sitting around... I am 27, and I am completely, utterly, without a doubt, lost.