Merry fucking Christmas

The other day I had to drop $700 bucks on my truck. I work so I can pay for my truck so I can drive to work so I can pay for my truck. Happy Holidays? What holiday? What am I celebrating? You want me to buy shit for people? Cant. I hate my job. I've lived my life with the delusion that I was supposed to do something more. I've chased the things I was passionate about because I believed that was what was right.
 I believed in purpose and destiny.
   I will celebrate my own personal god. My god's name is "Fuck you, work harder". All I want is to leave this town. I want an opportunity to be able to work at the things I'm passionate about. Fuck you, work harder. Earlier this week someone bought me half a tank of gas. Today I had to cash in my change jar on my lunch break at the Wal Mart in Cordova. In there with the dregs of humanity. It was 9 dollars. I bought a loaf of generic white bread, a jar of generic peanut butter and a jar of generic jelly. I sat in my truck in the Wal Mart parking lot, making sandwiches with a flimsy plastic fork. This jelly says "may contain traces of milk, eggs, anchovies  peanuts, wheat and soy". Why is all this shit in my jelly? At the beginning of the week I was eating Value Time bologna on Value time bread. I feel weak, but I've forced myself to go to the gym every day. I've forced myself to go running. Fuck you, work harder.
   My job is an endurance test. How many hours can you stand doing something you hate? People suggest I get a second job. Work at a restaurant or something. They suggest I work weekends. Fuck you, work harder. They suggest I'm not doing enough. A few weeks ago I got sick after a 4 day stint of late night film shoots and out of town shows. Shows where people just stared at us like cows chewing their cud. All the effort we've put in to writing songs and being honest? Fuck you, work harder.
   I look around and I see liars winning. I see people being phony and succeeding. That's what the world is teaching us, to lie and steal and be insincere, and if you try and be real? fuck you. work harder.
   I'm not sad about it. I'm pissed. I'll grind myself down with two middle fingers in the air. I expect nothing anymore. I understand what was fairy tales now. You may lose. You may try all your life, fighting uphill and gain nothing while someone with a pretty face may waltz through whistling and hit the jackpot. Life is not fair. There is no god. There is no justice.
I've got friends calling me right now, wanting me to meet them at the bar. I wish I could. I love you guys, but my gas tank is on E, and somehow I've got to make it to work tomorrow.
I'm hoping 2013 will be the year I never have to cash in my change jar. It will definitely be the year I get the fuck out of here. I love you, Memphis but I've used up whatever opportunity you had.
   Sometimes when I have to go to Home Depot at 8am I look at all the burnt out old dudes I see in there. Tired, dirty, leathery skin from burning in the sun all day. You can tell they slept off a 12 pack. Sometimes I ask myself "how far away from being one of those dudes am I?"  I'm determined not to be. Sometimes I make the joke "I should've gone to college". To do what? What else could I have done but stayed true to my nature? I am not wired to be a business man. I am not wired to be a doctor, or a lawyer. I am wired to be creative. I couldn't sell my soul if I tried. I could never be fake.
   In your world, I'm qualified for labor jobs. I'm qualified to paint your house and fix your gutters. But I took that and I got to travel far and wide playing music. I've had experiences some of you will never have. I've only ever wanted the same things, ever since I was a kid and would act out plays for my grandma or make fake bands with my best friend in 3rd grade before we even knew how to play instruments  That shit makes me feel alive and always have and I've chased it and will continue to do so.
   What more can I sacrifice to get the fuck out of here? For a year I've lived above the studio. No shower, no kitchen, no hot water, bands practicing below me and terrible fucking rap music being recorded on the other side of the wall at all hours. I did it to save money. What more can I sacrifice? Fuck you, work harder. I don't spend my money on clothes or dumb shit. How much more of a minimalist can I be? Fuck you, work harder.
   So all of you with reason to celebrate, here's to you. All of you with rad lives and disposable incomes have a drink for me. Don't ask me to buy you shit. Fuck your holiday and fuck your baby jesus. Your holiday is interrupting me paying tribute to my god whose name is Fuck you, work harder. That's what I call him because that's the only answer I've ever gotten to a prayer. In my times of weakness, when I appeal to the sky for a bit of strength or a bit of help all i hear is "fuck you. work harder". and so i will. It's my new mantra, the only words I've ever heard from god.