Alexa Daskalakis

I Never Asked for This

a satire of accidental brilliance

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Author’s Note:
This is satire. I don’t see myself this way. I wanted spreadsheets.
Formulas. Predictable outcomes.
Please don’t take it seriously—unless you’re Joe.
Then yes, it’s about you.

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I didn’t want to be a writer.
Or a poet.
Or whatever this is.

I wanted to sit in the back.
Click things.
Submit things.
Repeat.

I wanted a job where my biggest risk
was a paper cut.
Maybe a toner explosion
if I got cocky.

I didn’t want vision.
I wanted a reliable stapler
and 3 p.m. invisibility.

But no.
Instead, I get words
that wake me up at 2:14 a.m.
and whisper,

“Write this down or perish.”

I get metaphors during dentist cleanings.
Character development in CVS aisles.
Moral clarity in Trader Joe’s parking lots.

I’m not even proud of it.
It’s just there.
Uninvited.
Loud.

Joe’s in the meeting like,

“I actually synergized the pipeline metrics.”
And I’m over here trying not to black out
because “the moon was never meant to stay”
just crash-landed through my skull
like a metaphor with tenure and health insurance.

I didn’t ask for inspiration.
I asked for direct deposit.
I asked for autopilot.
I asked to coast.

And now I’m here—
writing this—
which is, frankly,
further evidence of the curse.

Please.
Someone give me a math problem.
Something quiet.
With one right answer.
I’ll get it wrong,
and for once,
finally,
feel peace.

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Disclaimer: “Joe” is fictional. This piece is pure satire.