33

No, that is not my age. Thirty-three is the number I am down to on my journey (or pathetic attempt) of self realization. I know it has been a few days since my last post and there is a reason for that. Unfortunately, I spent a few days of self-loathing after I didn’t get the last job I interview for. Don’t sound surprised!

I blocked any major “ah-ha” moments with my trusty six pack and handy bathrobe, which I have now dubbed my cape. Yesterday I finally had a friend come over, pull me out of my fortress of solitude and take me out to lunch. This friend (or lets say this current person I am forced to like even in my depression) is one of those people that made all the right decisions. He went to the right college, met the right people, spent the right amount of time at each business before moving on, found the right girl, the right house, the right salary… need I say more. This is exactly the type of friend you want to hang out with when you are also on the right path. In my situation, he was also the kind of friend that I wanted to hate since I am currently on no given path.

After a double cheeseburger with everything on it (including jalapenos) and a coke, I hit realization number 33… if he can do it so can I. Ugh, it pains me to say that, but I do have potential and the ability to rack in the dough even without the help of Bill Gates. I would of much rather focus on the cheesy meat instead of my future. Let’s just say, when he picked me up I hated him. When he dropped me off I was inspired. Thanks jerk. You better come pick me up for burgers next week just in case the robe somehow slips back on.