Ready and Waiting to Prove the World Wrong

I have to confess something. In my roughly 47-odd years on this planet, I've done some pretty questionable things.

I came up hard on the streets. I made some mistakes - there were times when I thought that was all I made. All I was ever going to make.

Then I met her.

She took me out of all that. Just to chuck me back into it when she spruced off into the distance with that fucking government arts council dude.

After that I was on my own. I worked seven jobs to go to three different colleges full-time, but somehow it still never seemed like it was enough. Never enough to please my whip-cracking inner demon, driving me on to bigger and greater things as if to somehow, prove everyone wrong about me.

Then I won the fucking lottery.

After that I was buying mansions, buying mansions. I thought that would prove everyone wrong, everyone who had ever questioned my intelligence, my ability.

Unfortunately right after that, the mansion market went South in a hurry. And I'd built all my mansions in Alaska.

I was flat broke within the year. Soon I was busking on street corners, learning guitar as I went to earn my bread and water money. Unfortunately the more I learned and the better I got at it, the less people gave me. That's when I realized the fat daily rake I'd been taking in was nothing but pity money. Well screw those people - I didn't need their pity. I'd prove them and their pity wrong. I quit guitar - for good.

After that I stopped playing the lottery. I figured, there was no point revisiting my past mistakes.

Within a year from then, I was on the streets, selling my body for sex. Unfortunately, nobody wanted it for sex. I did pick up a deal on my kidney, but there was precious little to build on, there.

Soon I was staring myself and the world in the face, with one grim reality in mind: how was I going to prove all of these people wrong?

Then it hit me.

I should have looked before crossing.