The Chaotic Future

i've gotten a fair amount of textual and verbal "so what's next?" comments regarding my recent decision to ruin a relationship with an employer and, like always, there is no "what's next." there have been some jobs i've left for others and there have been some jobs i've left over moral standings.

and the second kind never allows me to leave with much of a plan past "get the fuck out, a.s.a.p."

i remember thinking of michelangelo when i was a credit card concierge-- both the renaissance artist and the ninja turtle. the teenage mutant ninja turtle was always associated with partying-- he was, after all, a party dude-- clad in an orange eye-band and a surfer's tongue, he had no worries beyond a bit of skateboarding and pizza-feasting. but the real, 15th century, michelangelo was an upset man. when he painted the sistine chapel, he included a self-portrait in which he was nothing but a sack of flesh. he did this to say he was soul-less-- painting only what he was asked and paid to paint with no room for a true artist's expression.

toward the end, my job made me feel like michelangelo: everyone assumed i was the party dude, and i did eat a lot of pizza, but when it came down to facts i was only a sack of flesh worrying about what the quality assurance team had to say about my professional verbiage. i had no soul.

if my manager, mr. poopants, hadn't been such an uncaring failure of a boss i still would've quit-- i may have lasted longer, but i would've needed an out both ways. i suppose i can thank him for making me miserable quicker.

anyway, several signs have pointed toward me becoming a bartender. part of me has wanted that job since before i started drinking because it's every extrovert's dream-- it's like all of the brilliancy of being a cabbie, minus all of the awful of having to drive 13 hours a day-- and lately the universe has planted a variety of pieces of litter that back me up. in the past few days, i've found cocktail flash-cards and even a small 1970's book on how to make fruity mixed drinks.

but, more importantly, i've heard from many a bartender that making drinks for a living was what pulled them out of alcoholism. and if not, i imagine "CHAOS, TOURISTS & NONSENSE: By President Wishnack: The Legend, The Rumor, The Menace, The Functioning Alcoholic Bartender of San Francisco." may be more fitting than other possible titles anyhow.

though, like i said, there was no real plan beyond getting out of my previous job as fast and chaotically as possible-- some would call it "burning bridges" but if there were any bridges burned they were headed to towns i have no intention of revisiting. nonetheless, i left with no immediate plan.

right now, my life is focused on creating art that has been put off for far too long-- whether it was my job that stopped me or my previous dating situations makes no difference-- i aim to get it all done now.

so to answer, "what's next?" i'd have to say, "adventure, art, and the exploration of the unknown." and if that's not a good enough answer for you, perhaps you should try quitting your job with no immediate plan and see if you can come up with something better.

frankly, i'm excited and you should be, too.