My Mortal Enemy is Dead, Now What?

Last Monday should have been one of the best days of my life. Not only did I get a raise and put a down payment on a condo, but my mortal enemy, Deb in accounting, died in a horrific rancid cheese poisoning accident. But ever since then, I just can’t seem to get back into the groove of things.

After Deb’s ex-boyfriend (my current boyfriend) called to let me know Deb’s throat had closed after eating a half-pound of tainted Gouda, I was despondent. I couldn’t think straight, let alone go through with my plans to protest her funeral. For the first time in my life it truly feels like I don’t know what comes next.

Your twenties are supposed to be a fun, wild time filled with parties, sex and hammering upside down nails into your mortal enemy’s desk chair. But most of the time it just feels like we’re nothing but cogs in a machine on the long march towards our inevitable demise.

For example, I spent months picturing the sweet, euphoric state I would enter the day I would no longer have to deal with Deb (after I tricked her lawyer into putting her into the Witness Protection Program). But now that it’s done, it’s just like, was the journey even worth it? Was it worth prank calling Deb from an unknown number at least 80 times a day for six straight months until she was temporarily put into a mental institution? Does any of this mean anything at all? Will people remember me when I die?

For most of our lives, we’re led to believe that things just figure themselves out. I went to a good college (Fordham University, or for those of you that don’t know, proud alma mater of Donald J. Trump), scored my dream job as an inside sales rep for RadioShack and spent many beautiful mornings watching the sunrise as I broke into Deb’s favorite deli and farted on every single block of cheese. Yet even with all of those accomplishments, here I am filled with self-doubt as I take my next step deeper into adulthood.

What I have discovered through this experience is that there’s no roadmap to life. One day I was happily selling Deb’s social security card on the Black Market and now I’m here. But I’ve realized the only person who can figure out my next step is me. So, maybe I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I’m excited at the prospect. This is my vow to make the most of my years and take nothing for granted. Tomorrow I will go to work, hold my head up high and do what I do best: light Deb’s desk on fire one last time and harass her entire family on Instagram.