Living up to your expectations

The moon’s shine was unusually powerful tonight. Hoping to be the only soul around, I stood while the entire plaza was blanketed with the moon's illumination. I remained in a solemn stance with a brick in one hand, and determination in the other. There wasn't a single person around to witness the grueling promise that I must fulfill, thankfully. I mean, it's not like I had a choice in the matter or anything. It was a duty that was impossible to back down from. Either I commit an act of depravity, or suffer an act of abeyance. Either I strive, or die.

Life was hell to me. Some of the things I had to do to survive another dawn and dusk in this place are nothing short of a miserable nightmare. With not a single diploma, or even a proper high school certificate under my belt, the only means of making a withstanding living in this hell-hole of a city was degrading my expectations to the lowest possible form by working in tedious jobs. Jobs that were so aggravating and unbelievably humiliating, that bums themselves would rather prefer sleeping on the cold cement floor then doing what I had to do.

When I first entered this city, I got a job as a taxicab driver, which was actually a pretty neat job to start with. But, the company floated onto the short end of the business stick and had to close down due to bankruptcy. My next job was working as a grocery cashier. It was menial, but the clientele I had to work with wasn't worth scrimmaging a measly $3.50 an hour for. For each horrendous failure I made at keeping a job, I ended up wishing I had that old job back to spare myself from dealing with a new one. I was McDonald’s employee, pool cleaner, bathroom janitor, even as a children's mascot. I couldn't even hold up a single job for more than a week without making a public outburst or just saying "screw it" and quitting altogether. For each unforgiving downfall, for each time my hopes, my dreams and my expectations of success had to slither down the pole with each new job, the more harsh reality came to be.

I hated these jobs. The co-workers I associated with despised them even more. No one I knew would even remotely consider liking this. No one with a sane mind could deal with this nonsense without having to masquerade a paper-thin smile. But, I digress. I had nothing and no one to work for. I have nothing to live with other than myself. It was a pain to know that I couldn't shell out enough money to move out of this death trap, or tolerate working in organized torture until I raised enough. And I already established a horrendous reputation with this city, so I couldn't get another paying job if I wanted to. Life was coming to a slow, unforgiving closure. I had to lower my expectations to survive. But in rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. Yet, I still went down from there.

I'd have to admit that freelance burglary isn't all as people say it is. It’s actually a really cool job. I could have an incredibly flexible work shift. I could make and live up to as many rules as I could possibly desire since I'm my own boss. It's also a nice touch that I can see and meet my clients in real life and up close. Finally, a job I can work with. Getting fired from it would be impossible. My first day on the job wouldn't be some dumb practice session. It would be breaking in and doing the five-fingered discount, no expenses paid. This job does nothing but defining my sole admiration and desires. And most of all, I could, for once, finally come in par with my expectations!...

...Well, sorta. It's not a real surprise though, since I sort of had none to start with. I guess there was no set value. What a shame, actually. I guess I could've done something. Something, you know? ...I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this. I mean, I could've. I could've just dealt with the jobs I had. They could've probably been better if I had a better attitude.

Maybe.

Maybe I could've just accepted the fact that life wasn't going to be easy. Maybe it wasn't going to be just peaches and rainbows. Maybe I shouldn't have dropped out of high school, just to accomplish nothing. I could've just stayed with my parents, rather than just leaving home and ending up in a place where you think you would become an actual success in. I could've done something meaningful. I could've done something worth doing. I could've made the right choices. I could've just grown up. I... just could've.

But, I didn't.

That's the problem. I didn't. I didn't live up to my expectations. It was set as a visible and reachable height, but I didn't even bother to make it. I knew it was there. I knew it all the time. I was never happy with my lazy-minded choices, and regret for making each and every one of them. Everything I did had a chance to move up from there. But I went down. Down I went to, and down I went through. I pierced through rock bottom and ended up where all my nightmares and worst fears came to reality. It took no patience to punish me for what I have done to myself. And I'm living it. I'm in my own hell. And I'm my own devil.

...I dropped the brick. I left the scene without taking any time to look back. I walked. I jogged. I sprinted. I ran. I was wrong. I was painfully wrong. I wanted to get out. I wanted to get back. I-I wanted to go back. I thought I could live on my own terms. I was wrong. My parents were right. I was wrong. I thought I could be a success at such a young age. I thought I would make it big. I thought I could be that person everyone dreamed to be, without knowing myself first. I was wrong. I ran to the nearest payphone. I tried to call my parents. Nothing but an automated message came through. All I could say, and all I would ever say was a lone sentence.

"I want my life back."