Had an interesting talk with the German foreign assignee today. It's kind of weird to meet such a similar person from another country. We were talking about careers and getting bored.
You see, I've realized lately that I don't really fit in anywhere, and I never really have.
I definitely didn't fit in during high school. I didn't really want to go to college. In talking with Katy and Yaz and Jagibbs the other night, I suddenly realized that during the first three years of undergrad, I didn't have a single person I really considered a friend. There were some acquaintances, but no real friends. My only friend was back home. However, I never really noticed this absence of friends while I was in college. I always figured that when college ended it would be just like high school. You go your separate ways and for the most part never see each other again, except in extremely rare cases.
I did make some friends in grad school, and in my first job. Ever since grad school I've been getting better at this whole chameleon thing. I can fit in to any job in almost any surroundings, and everyone seems to love me. But I never feel settled in my work. I never feel that this is what I want to do. But looking back, there's really not anything I'd rather do, per se. To me, every job seems like a load of crap.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I lay awake in the bed trying to think hard about what I wanted to do. There was no answer. I can stay here in D.C., find a job out in the country, or move out of the country altogether. I could push paper all day, do advanced technical work, or just work with my hands in hard labor all day. I don't think it would matter. I'd still have to go to work, still have to do some other meaningless thing or the other to earn paper.
Florian said I had that look in my eye when I told him I was part Native American. Maybe I give off an aura of dissatisfaction over how this world has turned out.
It's not like it's going to get any better before it gets a whole lot worse. Time to train until I can't help but sleep . . . .
