The end of a beer is warm and skunky. It makes my stomach hurt. All I want to do is crack open a new one, fresh and freezing and crisp, but that is simply unacceptable until I have forced the last few stale drops to slither down my throat. And no matter how many times I tip the bottle back, I never seem to get any closer to the bottom.
The end of a beer is like a first date. A first date is sweaty and awkward. The smiling gives me a headache. All I want to do is go home and message new people on OkCupid, funnier people, more eloquent people, people with better pictures, but that is simply unacceptable until I have spent the evening pretending to care about what he says and indulging his clumsy advances. And no matter how long it feels, the date never seems to end.
The end of a beer is like my job. My job is dull and pointless. A five-year-old could do it. All I want to do is apply for a new one, challenging and captivating and important, but that is simply unacceptable until I spend (waste?) a few years of my life here, gaining experience and garnering good references. And no matter what work I’m given, it never seems like the right time to leave.
The end of a beer is like motherhood. Motherhood is tense and exhausting. It makes me cry. All I want is for things to be the way they were before, free and fast and selfish, but that is simply unacceptable until I have sacrificed so much for my child that I have faded away. And no matter how old she gets, your child will always need you.
Well that was depressing. Sorry, @TigerBeatP. Hope you liked it anyway.
Last night I was going to do yoga and write. Instead I ended up eating pizza, drinking beer, and watching the Blackhawks win. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I make excellent life decisions.