the same things.

i'm so tired of writing the same things over and over again. the same words and scenarios strained through a net of similar words and metaphors. everyday i either am filled with hope or completely lost to despair. my words are drenched in sadness and disillusionment or filled with radiant perspective. in a matter of hours i often go from a lost boy in a strange mystical world to a pompous young man who feels the grains of the earth within his hands. i'm so unsure. the globe gazette, the local paper here, laid off several writers today. one of them was the sports editor. he is a kind man with a great personality who is raising two kids. also, professionally, he has been a success. a well composed and reliable writer will be vacant from his desk tomorrow morning at the downtown office of the river city publication. all of this paid no factor in corporate budget cuts, and now he must find a new means of support for his family. i am becoming disillusioned with the newspaper business. the cold harshness of a culture where it is acceptable to cut the learned and talented in favor of the younger, cheaper alternative is a daunting menace. in a society where growth is punished, the only future will lie in ruin. in a business, there is little common sense in favoring an economic standard over a strong resume and years of experience. however, that is the reality, and things are only going to get progressively worse in a paper print business living in the digital age. this all is making me wonder how worthwhile my education will be when all is said and done. i can live the rest of my life on the hourly wage, but i can not ask a family to live off that. tonight, i am curious. i feel like a child who has wandered too far from his mother in a bustling department store. every orb of light is a distant star, every passing house wife has become a foreign invader. i want to speak their tongues, i want to shake their hands. i want to explore the previously unseen, the images created in my mind from grand story telling and literary valour. some nights, i sit in bed and pretend that all the tall tales about a greater america are true. sometimes, i need to.