I Want To Quit

“I’m not a quitter” I sigh as I exhale cigarette smoke from between my lips. I’m obviously hooked on cigarettes. I’m hooked on working at my job. Although I don’t get paid enough for the amount of work I do, I dedicate any hour of the week because I have a sense of responsibility and duty to the organization (thought: is that another definition for push-over?)

It’s abuse, the way we are treated. It’s as if we owe the organization our lives. As if we had been begging for water and they had saved us. As if we had signed up for a full-time job on a part-time pay. As if working in a religious setting took away our freedom of speech. I can go into juicy details about where I work, but I’m not about to become an embarrassing headline.

I don’t know how to quit, because I care about the individuals I oversee. If I quit, who will care for them? Will they care for my individuals as much as I do? Will they care enough to think of the future and plan ahead? Will they care enough to go out of their way to accommodate these individuals? Will they care enough to study their background and culture and to connect with them on a personal level?

That’s my humble thinking.

In reality, I can’t quit because I don’t have anything else to fall back on. No past employers, family-owned businesses, or friend-knows-somebody deals. What sucks the most is that I don’t have the motivation to look anywhere else. My heart and mind has been fully invested at where I work now.

It’s a toxic cycle, and I really must quit.


Weekly Dream Round-Up

I lied, it’s not weekly. It’s been two weeks. I spent too much time in the dream universe and lost track of time.

  • I was walking through a narrow path of grass. Then running through the narrow path. Then crawling up a steep hill on all fours. I couldn’t see to my left or right. It was too foggy and dark. It must have been a game – a race – but I didn’t know what I was running towards or what the prize would be. I had to keep moving forward.
  • Finally, a clean bathroom with four clean toilets. It reminded me of a bathroom with double sinks (which I never understood), but this time it was four toilets so my friends and I can all go together at the same time. Not really, I was alone in my dream. The toilets were of different sizes and heights, and I sat on each one to find the right one for me. The first one was too wide and my butt fell in. The second one was too short and my legs cramped up. The third one was too tall and my feet dangled like a child. The last one – I didn’t get to sit on.
  • A mission to infiltrate a bathhouse, find the secret prison in the tunnels, and break my friend free all without being caught. I’ve already been on this mission before in a previous dream. But this time, I couldn’t remember the logistics behind my mission. I completely forgot which guards have naptimes, which gates have false locks, which corners have security cameras, which doors lead to the tunnel, which tunnels lead to the prison… I felt useless as an agent, and undeserving of the mission.
  • D lived in a dorm and shared the room with an older student. I was alone in his room. D must have been in class. I heard the door click and J walked in. He didn’t stop walking. He pushed me into the closet and cornered me. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to back down. There I was, standing in the corner of a closet, having a staring contest with a fuckboy and hoping for my boyfriend‘s return.
  • Poussey was flirting with me and I flirting back. I’ve always been infatuated with her since the beginning of the show Orange Is The New Black. Her piercing brown eyes stared straight into mine. Her fingers grazed my arms and my skin burned from the touch. She said she could make me feel good. She told me to trust her.

I don’t remember flying in my dreams. It’s no big deal though. I had extremely vivid dreams in the past two weeks. Plus, I remember flying like it was yesterday.

Hangman is No Joke

I was on my way to work. The morning air tasted of the ocean and summer heat. It was Wednesday and I was headed north on the Cross Island. A familiar green exit sign approached over my head. There was an awful lot of traffic on the other side. I counted four police vehicles and two emergency trucks. I noticed a ladder scaling up the side of the scaffolding holding the exit signs and my eyes followed.

He was hanging from the top, gravity pulling his body toward the heavy traffic. 

No, not another dead body.

My fingers tightened against the steering wheel, my heart began racing, my vision blurred, and the road became white. I started hyperventilating and could not steady my breathing. He had hanged himself. His life had escaped his body. The man was really dead.

This wasn’t the first time I had come across a dead body. I glimpsed a train accident earlier this week. Until now, I haven’t fully realized how mortal we are. A deep cut, and our blood stops running for us. A water-filled lung, and our breaths mean nothing to us. An asphyxiation, and the life we once knew is gone forever.

We are often pushed to the brink by the very thing that should protect us. Our society is good at excluding individuals, making us feel like we have no place we belong to and no purpose in life. I disagree with many things society endorses, but not enough to understand a public display of suicide. Whatever hate he had towards society, I did not need to see in the form of a stiff, cold, green body.

It’s been half a day but the image is freshly burned in my brain. I can’t look up without thinking there would be a body hanging. High ceilings scare me. Dark corners scares me.

Have you ever seen a hanged man? It’s not just a word game. It’s a man’s last joke on society.