Time Is Running Out

I don't know the meaning of the Muse song that has become my muse for this post. Perhaps I'm not smart enough to figure it out (I'm usually not smart enough for songs I like, or poetry, or books) or perhaps I'm too busy to figure it out. Or maybe I only like figuring Damo's songs out. Or maybe I only truly understand his music, and everyone else's I'm happy liking from far, just from hearing distance.

Truth be told, it doesn't matter. My time is running out.

Yes, I'm just 25. But I'm a single, job-hating 25-year-old.

Let's tackle the job-hating part. Why does that worry me, you ask? Well, think of all the time I waste at this dull office, inhabited recently by a very gaseous person who just happens to sit right next to me and is, for some reason, seemingly unfazed by my looks (an equal mixture of disgust and pure misery) or my clutching at my nose trying to rip the damn thing off. 

(Picture courtesy Nikhil, who should probably be putting his pictures up online.)

Think of all the time I waste doing things I hate, when I could be here, blogging, or outside, looking up at the sky with my eyes shut, so I might not see where the sun is, but know where it is. Or the holidays I might take, were I not required to walk in here on time everyday.

It doesn't matter, you might say. You might also try to convince me that this is part of a learning process. But I'd counter with the argument that I don't have all the time in the world. I have a fixed set of years to do all of the things that I want to do. So why am I sitting here, worrying about money, when I could be doing something that makes me forget all about the green stuff?

I'm single. Yes. I have been for over a year now, and I hate it. It's not the life for me. I don't enjoy the so-called freedom you get. I didn't even crave it when I was in a relationship. I fucked up, yes. It was all me. So this is punishment, right? This finding out everyone I know is in a relationship except me?

The worst part is most of my friends think I'm doing this to myself! Really? So I'm part masochist, you say? Bollocks.

But I haven't met a single girl I'd be interested in. I've met some married ones. Who didn't bother telling me they were married while I was flirting* with them. Oh yea, some of them do that. I can't believe I had to add them on Facebook to find that out. I also can't believe I'm glad Facebook exists.

I don't mind being punished for hurting her. I deserve it, I know. I'm just wondering how much time I'll have with the future Mrs. Void. I wouldn't care if I met the woman of my dreams years later, and both of us were old, if I still got the amount of time I wanted to live with her. I don't want to meet her when I've too little time left on this planet. Hell, the way things are going, none of us know how much time we have left here.

But then, maybe this is all unnecessary.

Hell, maybe I'm wasting too much time worrying.

You think?

*Please note: Just because I'm using the word 'flirting' does not mean I actually know what it means. I've merely been told that my actions at times resemble flirting, but since I was drunk all of those times, I couldn't possibly recreate the actions that were collectively termed, by my soberer friends, as flirting.