It’s me again, your favorite self-pitying wannabe writer, whining about how Life Is Hard™! Shocking, I know.
Scrolling through Google Docs the other day, I stumbled across a piece I wrote (but never published) this past spring called “The In-Between.” It feels too personal to share and I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t mostly me feeling sorry for myself, because it was.
At the time, I had just been plunged into the utter trainwreck of all the things I’ve already bored you enough with here and here. I described how any sense of foundation I had was gone and how hopeless I was (once a drama queen, always a drama queen). It was a wakeup call for how truly lost I was in LA. “I have entered what I like to call the In-Between,” I wrote. One phase of my life is clearly over, and I keep crashing and burning trying to find the next.
In May, I ended up finding another temporary position that seemed like the solution to the worst of my problems, and I looked at it as the happy montage at the end of the romantic comedy.
Bright Young Woman tries to Live On Her Own in the Big City and gets screwed over by the contract for her temp position at the same time she gets her heart tragically broken, bringing about a Grand Revelation in which she realizes how much she’s lost herself? Well, joke’s on THEM, because she just won a new position at a pretty office building with a fountain!
(CUT TO shot of Bright Young Woman driving off in her car, smiling to herself as upbeat KT Tunstall song plays in the background. Roll credits).
Unfortunately, as interim positions sometimes do, it recently ended, and I realize just how little progress I’ve made in trying to better my life. I find myself trapped once again in the In-Between. Every time I find solid ground to stand on, it turns to quicksand beneath my feet.
I wish I had a solution, but to be honest, I have no idea what comes next.
Career ambition? Anything that doesn’t bore me to tears and/or screw me over in the end.
Ambition or desire to do anything other than grow deeply uncomfortable with how much I’m starting to identify with BoJack Horseman? MIA.
I want so desperately to fast forward to the point in my life where the good things happen. I want to be at a stable point where I make enough money at a job I actually enjoy to afford rent in my own apartment. I want to be at the point where I have a fun, fulfilling social life with a variety of people and fall in love without getting my heart broken. I want to be at the point where I’m not plagued by self-doubt and the fear that I’ll never accomplish anything. I want to do anything other than my demented dance routine of “find something, force it to fit, briefly achieve vague sense of stability, lose it all, crash and burn.” Please, let me out of the In-Between.
Hell, just let me have something engaging to talk about for this blog post.
“But Quinn, take a writing class!” HA. If you think I am ever doing homework again, you are sorely mistaken. Also, those things cost money.
“Why don’t you just move back home?” I know that’s a possibility. Alas, I would just grow too restless and anxious there.
“I know! Why don’t you compile these unsavory feelings into a disjointed blog post and publish it on the Internet, despite the fact that no one but your mom gives a shit?” See, NOW you’re talkin’.
[Also, before another person subtweets me or links my blog to an article about how millennials are entitled: I don’t write what I do because I think I’m special or that the world owes me something. I write this stuff because I know a lot of people can relate. If I can make one person laugh or feel less alone, that’s enough for me.]