So... it was noted by a dear friend that I haven't been here for a long time. Yeah, I know. I stopped writing. If it wasn't for this particular friend, I wouldn't be doing this now, I lost my mojo. Caput. None. No motivation to write. Thanks Dave, this is your fault.
As I sit here at the computer for the first time in (checks notes...) fucking years, listening to Dvorak's Symphony Number 4 in G, I'll put pen to paper, so to speak, and Dave can just can it. I'm writing, get off my case.
Work.
Work is life's perpetrator of bad moods, the fly in all our ointments. We have to do it, because let's face it, we all like to eat. And work keeps us in that habit, as well as other bad habits like a home, a car, cat food, dish soap, pants. Things that we could likely do without if given a choice. We're not allowed to steal money, so we have to earn it honestly (unlike some people in the news these days). We have to work or we die, which ironically is the end result anyway. We must fill those long years of adulthood with the grind or we end up on the street wondering what life would have been like if we just... you know... worked.
Life is like a car...
Ignition
Warm up the engine
Drive the hell out of it,
Idle
Shut off the ignition.
If you don't get the analogy here, then I'm not going to explain it, stop reading this and go pick up a Dr. Suess book.
The bits in between are the juicy ones, the times where you stop driving and go sit on a beach somewhere, or park the car and take the kayak off the roof. Maybe the times where you stop at a little out of the way diner with your love, then the times where you fix the car. All these little places in your life where you stop driving for a while and do something else matter more than the drive. Simply put once in a while you need a break from driving. Stop the car and find a rose to smell. Then the grind seems slightly more bearable. Keep the rose on the dashboard as you go down the road. Remember it, and get more.
That's the balance.
I'm at the age where thirty years ago I said I wanted to be retired. I'm not. And I can't see that happening anytime soon, as the old joke goes, I have to work til noon on the day of my funeral. Years ago retirement was the end result of a work life, now it's a dream many will never see, how things change. I envy people who can relax in their oncoming golden years, I envy them and curse them in the same thought. Fuck you, people retiring with pensions. I hate you. As we bust our backs at work you sit around planning your next vacation or outing, not worrying about if you can get the time off work. Dammit. You pension fund babies. Lucky fucking people. Anyway, I digress.
Side note: Hate is a strong word, maybe change that too GRRRRRRRR. jealous! (Yes, that paragraph was intentionally harsh Dave).
I'm very lucky with my job, I get to chill and travel. I spent last night in Toronto seeing the sights. I spent this morning walking around that city taking in the sights and sounds, all while on the clock. I don't complain. (Okay, well yeah, I do but anyway...) Most aren't as lucky. 9 to 5 slugs doing their bit for their corporate overlords. Putting in the 40 and paying their taxes like good little Canadians should. That's the deal right? Work for your pay, pay your taxes, get your little house, put food in your fridge, and save up for that trip to Punta Cana. Use your credit card, the banks love that... And now, on top of huge taxes, you're in debt to the banks. Ain't working life grand.
Do I sound cynical? Well yes, yes I do. I am cynical. Because I'm getting old, and I'm not retiring anytime soon. Either are you Dave.
When you're young 40 hours seems doable. Out of a 168 hour week you only have to output 40 of it. That leave 128 hours to do what you want. Seems reasonable. But in your fifties, you may as well switch the hours around, and feel like we're working 128 and have 40 off. Because dammit, we're tired. We aren't young anymore! And I like to nap. So....
Time to do stuff for yourself is fleeting and always centred around the all-present work schedule. "Wanna go to the show Friday?... Nope, gotta work early Saturday". That's our thing. Work controls everything, but also make us not die of starvation. Now add that little fun bit of your life to your friends equation. Wanna see your friends? See if your schedules mesh. Wanna have a party? How many friends can't make it because they have to work. Now... If we all had retiree pensions..... Imagine the fun we'd have! Again, GRRRRRR, Jealous!
Is all this worth it? Of course it is. Until we live in Gene Roddenberry's Utopia of money not existing this is our fate. This is what we have to do. We work, we play, we love, we chill. We accept this life we've been given and we enjoy the hell out of it until we can't physically do it anymore, then we give up and die. That's life in a nutshell.
So I'm living to the fullest because I know full well one day I won't be able to enjoy those 128 hours like I used to, I know that I will spend at least 20 of them recovering from the first 40. Once day I will spend another 20 just going to appointments trying to fix the damage the 40 caused. Every year those 128 hours get eaked away just a bit more. Too much to do, to much to catch up. Even now that one hour of sitting on the patio on a beautiful spring day listening to the birds may as well be 10 hours. The little time matters. Every. Fucking. Moment.
So Dave, now that I've heeded your advice and posted no this blog, where are you? And for anyone else reading this (which won't be many), where are you? Are you still plowing full bore down the highway, stopped to smell the roses, or idling? Personally, I'm about ready to take the kayak off the roof for a few hours before I hit the road again.
Cheers and love.
