by The Usual Suspect
Not even fully cleared out of the Army's grasp, I'm already fighting my own fight on two fronts. ETS and get set up for school.
It's time, it's been time for a long time, dammit. Ready to snatch every offer, hand-out, and opportunity, I've got a goal. Freedom. It's mine, I WANT it.
Phone calls, e-mails, classified ads. Who wants a roommate with some (supposedly) guaranteed GI Bill money, guaranteed rent? Hell, five years ago I would have completely and utterly blown it. Pissed it away like yesterday's gin. Not now, God no. I earned it, it's mine, GIVE IT TO ME and get out of the fucking way. Slap a yellow ribbon on my ass and point me towards a lecture.
Unemployment? Shit job? Delivering pizzas? Being an entry level bottom feeder again, well I gotta tell ya, sounds like a greasy pimply slice of Heaven. The kind of jobs where all your co-workers are like walking caricatures of minor characters from The Simpsons, I'm all right with that. It's freedom, that's what it means. It's a return to everything I stuffed into the darkest corner of a storage closet with one fell swoop of an electronic pen in some lifeless MEPS station.
Only now I know better, take it seriously. Close your eyes and see a place worse than any ghetto in this country, and it's all you should need to fuel the fire. Never to step foot in that place again, it's almost like I have to earn it. Earn the right to stay here by becoming smarter, more capable, sharper, stronger, desiring more, living hard and reaching maximum potential and raising the standard of what man should be. Fuck. Yes.