Too Fast To Write

I am moving at warp speed. One minute I was languishing as an exploited and underpaid part timer. The next minute I am working like a pig donkey - maximum hours - maximum brain stress and body fatigue. I keep reaching out to grab a hold of this blog as I blow by, but my arm has almost been ripped from my body twice; now I am more cautious.

Ain't no middle ground in life. Pretty interesting stuff.

I used to crawl into work on my hands and knees and beg the Boss Man for more hours. Give me all you got, I don't dig this poverty scene. "I am administratively limited to the number of hours I can dole out to you quasi-invisible part timers. Now continue to assume managerial responsibility for part time pay."

I would hide behind the vodka wall with a Playboy, a joint and some stolen nips to while the time away. My disdain was justified.

Now I work and work until I look up and there is no shift scheduled. I stumble home, re-introduce myself to my lovely wife, the precious cats and the recliner. The day off is spiritual - my body recovers, elasticity returns to my mind, and a deep seated sense of satisfaction radiates throughout my body and my brain that something called a paycheck will reward my efforts.

It's a deal with The Devil but one I am willing to make for the first time in my life.

For now.

Contrary to the tone you may intuit from my words, I am not complaining. The only thing I regret is the reduced opportunity to write. But that will come. I gotta get a rhythm. It's all about rhythm.

Walked in last night with a bottle of Crown under my arm. Physically and mentally beat. Looking forward to last night and today.

Carol leaped off the couch, slapped me across the face and screamed at the top of her lungs - "Don't spend any more money."

OK - maybe it didn't happen exactly like that - but that was the message. We are crawling through the last two weeks of poverty - the tail end of the part time regime. The mortgage is due this week. Goddamn Mortgage Vampire. One of these days I will wrestle you to the ground and kick the crap out of you for the stress you create.

The mismatch between doing what I am doing while still being tortured by the exploitation of the past doesn't sit well with me. There is no immediate connection between effort and reward. It is on time delay.

Hopefully that is the last time I ever hear those words. Ever.

The next check will be real. It will be the shovel handed to me to start digging ourselves out of The Hole.

I believe I am ready.