I hate that my dream is dying. When even my own mother thinks I should do something other than IT I guess it’s time to give up on the dream. The problem is, the dream wasn’t all that unrealistic, the only thing preventing me from continuing with this was the math, and therein lies the greater problem.
All good jobs or qualifications have some degree of math in them, and we all know that even the most rudimentary degrees of math are likely to prove fatal when you’re me. So what do I do, some shitty box packing job in a factory somewhere so that by the time I’m 94 I might maybe be able to retire with a sub-standard television, liver damage and a packet of budget brand gingernuts to dunk in my tea. What a wonderful fucking life I have to look forward to.
What’s the point of being alive if the process of being alive makes you sad, I’m not sure I get it.