Dream on

A million thoughts ran through my mind whilst sipping my usual americano a few hours ago. Okay, a million is quite an overstatement, I can't even count that high, let's pare it down to a couple of thousand (which is still kinda doubtful anyway given my short attention span).

So... a couple of thousand thoughts ran through my mind some hours ago, this specie of separation anxiety is getting to me with my impending change of workplace. I can't help thinking of all the things I'm going to leave behind, the people, the building I helped construct (well, not literally), the lunches I stole, that stupid desk of mine with the squeaky drawer, the loose screw in my office chair that keeps poking my butt, Kermit that clunky green car which has taken me almost everywhere. I guess I'm gonna miss almost everything in that place, even staring at my boss' nose hairs while he's snoozing through my weekly report. I guess 8 years have a way of tatooing themselves on you.

28 more days till my resignations comes into effect, and I'm already having cold feet about leaving.

You try to push those thoughts away, but then fear rears its ugly head. What if I fail miserably at my new job? What if I don't like it? What if everyone there's a snooty bastard? What if they frown upon people who enjoy stealing lunches? What if the office coffee is (gasp!) decaf?

I call up someone I knew who used to work for my future employers, try to get some insights into what lay ahead of me. "Really, you're gonna work for them? I hope you're all healthy and shit, it's a whole new level of stress in there!" Crap, not exactly the encouraging words I was looking for. "But the pay's definitely top rate." There, that's better.

Wait, what the heck's happened to me? Have I become a slave to the almighty peso? Am I a sell-out? Did I just sign my soul over to the capitalist devil out to fuel my greed and strange need for frothy beers and cappuccinos (which essentially leads you straight to hell, I've been told)? Just a few years ago, I was a proud citizen working for a local company waging the quixotic war and now look at me, counting beans and thinking of getting myself my first dark gray suit. Oh no!

I wonder, is it too late? Could I still back away from the deal?

Of course I could. But I know I won't. Not because I'm not nationalistic, but because this is a means to a greater good, to that boyhood dream...

I had a dream, and in that dream I'm at a bar, surrounded by hundreds of hot, scantily clad bimbos, waiting for their turn to feed me grapes and stuff!

I had a dream, and in that dream all the faucets, the shower, heck even the toilet was overflowing with draft beer!

I had a dream, and in that dream it was raining pizzas and burgers and lechon and nachos and marshmallows and ice cream and fishballs!

I had a dream, and in that dream I was naked, and waiting for the light to turn green, and everyone at the intersection was staring at me, and pointing at my shriveled little pee-pee, which kinda sucked.

If people call me a sell out, so be it. If people jeer and call me a traitor and a fool, so be it. If people look down upon me and think that I've let everyone down, so be it. If hot women tempt me and do all sorts of sensual things to me because I've now got all this money and shit, then so be it. In the end, I'll still be the same boy who had a dream, and who did something rather than do nothing for the sake of that dream. '... I faced it all, and I stood tall, and did it.... My Way!'