I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at my station in life at present. For all its power in getting me laid frequently, the Church History major is rather limited in terms of job prospects. I should have known that I would be engaged in an unfulfilling job like most other people. Instead, I saw my life unfolding and extending by its own accord. I would graduate college and soon after find a job. Making a comfortable salary, I would come home after a day of satisfying labor to my robustly breasted live-in girlfriend. Sitting at the table switching leisurely between Italian and English, our wheelchair bound son, Lumis, would later join us. He was cute and wore designer glasses and said things like “basghetti” and “poogies” so he wasn’t off-putting like other handicapped people. The sun would set as I stuck it to my girl on our expensive, modern bed. Time would stand still as we explored each other, locked in the depths of physical love. Lumis would be chaired at the foot of the bed, his wheels locked into place. It is from the man that the boy learns. In plae of this, I wait tables. I respond to snapping fingers and robotically laugh at inane jokes and I am disappointed with my life. It is an odd sort of disappointment, though. I don’t do much to change my lot. I do not look for other jobs. I am not looking at graduate programs. I am currying favor with the delivery guys of local restaurants by overtipping them. Encouraging loyalty among the delivery caste takes time - trust me on this.
It is not only me that feels this dissatisfaction, I know. I wonder what it is to have a child who fails his abilities. I have overheard my dad on more than one occasion, while talking to someone on the phone, lie about me. ”Brian? He’s so busy with the doctor school,” and another time, “Brian? We lost our angel. Jumped on a grenade in the officer’s blowjob cantina over in Iraq. He died as he lived - giving derb to grey haired dudes in funny outfits.” It all boils down to disappointment with myself. I do not know what I want to do with my life and that is not a good fact to wake up to everyday. It is easy to blame it on the economy or assure myself that relying on tips is a good way to make a living, but it is not true. What lies ahead is unknown and it is only now that I am actively thinking about the future. It is in this time that I rest upon the advice given to me by my father in childhood. ”Life is difficult, but you must never give up,” he said, marking in pencil on the wall the inches I had grown since my last measurement, “Your penis is growing swimmingly.”