Friday, February 03, 2006
In which I am even more self-righteous than usual.
My friends Are angry and hurt by me and my life at the moment for two reasons. 1.) I’m at last doing something for myself. They’ve been doing things for themselves for years. Sixth Form, University, backpacking, working in China, the list goes on, all part of their final goals to have wonderful lives and be rich and successful. I somehow drifted into Sixth Form and drifted out again. Never said no to a drink. Never let anyone down. Would always go out and party or stay home and mop up tears for the price of a pint. And then as they marched into their Gap years and university applications and I found a job and a place to live, the only thing that changed was that I was now buying the pints and my house was the new Party Central. Now I have at last made a choice for myself that will help me move along the path of my own life. I’m being selfish. I want recognition for how hard I’m working. I can’t go out during the week. Or at the weekend unless its free and planned well in advance. Their spreading around the country didn’t hurt our friendships, nor me seeing them only in the holidays. Well, surprise, the social coordinator extraordinaire hasn’t got the time to call people right now, or even remember when your terms begin and end. How odd that now we only meet when you have nothing else to do. Grant me the right to stop drifting and do something for myself sometimes, guys. 2.) I’m at last doing something for other people. Something that actually matters. I’m not Mother fucking Theresa. But I’m important. My job is important, however low my salary is. I have more fucking responsibility than any of my colleagues; I make changes at my work, changes that affect poor people’s (not poor because they’ve spent all their student loans and their next parental handout doesn’t come till the end of the month, poor because their lives are hard and unpleasant and everyone in British so-called Society has let them down) lives for the better. I’m completely drawn into the kick of leaving work every night knowing that I’m actually doing something good. It’s as addictive as hedonism, believe me. So the hedonism is drifting away on its own; rather fortunate since I can’t afford cigarettes any more, let alone long nights at the pub, buying rounds, having ‘famous’ parties. I’m not claiming I’ve grown up or I don’t enjoy parties or anything of the kind. And fuck know I could do something way more self-sacrificing than being a librarian, in name at least. But I have been sucked into doing something every day that is worthwhile. And maybe even if you can’t help holding that against me, you’ll remember what I said when it’s time for you to start looking for your fat graduate salaries. And this course is part of it too. So what you’re living on baked beans and only drinking in Happy Hour. Just being born in this country, just speaking English as your first language, just having shoes and clothes and food and an education and the knowledge that your children won’t starve or go hungry; well, just look around you before you get yourself into a flap about me not answering the phone to you or coming to visit you. You’re in the top ten percent of the richest, luckiest people IN THE WORLD. Put like that, it seems less important whether I return your text messages or not, doesn’t it?