Once More into the Fray

Got good news today. My wife and I decided a while back it was time for me to get up of the couch and get a job. Well, one of us decided. I believe I was napping when the vote was taken. I hear you snickering. Don’t laugh; writers do some of their best work while in the horizontal position. We might look like we’re asleep, but the brain is in constant motion searching for that perfect metaphor, verb or witticism to complete the great American novel. Not buying it? I will say my wife is very happy now that I will be leaving the house occasionally.

This is not to say I never work. Over the last 5 years I have many times strapped on the old tool belt, crawled under a few lonely single women’s sinks and fixed a few leaks.  And no, that’s not this writer’s clever metaphor for how I got the nick name Hot Grandpa. I was a real handyman. Stop it. I’m not kidding. All minds up and out of the gutter.

For most of my life I was gainfully employed. But as a musician/writer (i.e.: starving artist) I found my mind in the clouds more times than not. Anyone will tell you the words daydream and circular saw don’t even belong in the same room let alone the same sentence. So after twenty years and all ten digits present and accounted for (in hindsight, as a two finger typist it might not have mattered) and knowing my lucky streak couldn't last forever, I retired to pursue my second dream of becoming a writer. Okay, I was laid off when the housing bubble collapsed, but retired sounds better even to me.

Retired is a funny word, isn't it? On one hand it means to give up one's work, business, career, etc., especially because of advanced age. On the other it can mean to go to bed (see paragraph one). I love words.

I’ll admit I’m a bit anxious about returning to work. I tried to get my psychiatrist to write me a note excusing me from anything stressful like getting up early or missing my afternoon nap, but she said she doesn’t generally do that sort of thing. She also mentioned it might be good for me to get out and interact with people.

So, after she woke me up (she told my wife I fainted. I say it was a cat nap.) and got me on my feet again I thanked her, put on my sunglasses so nobody would see how red and puffy my eyes were and pouted all the way home.

I only have two days to get myself together and report for duty. I think I can do this. Oh, and they said I have to wear collared shirts. No V-Neck Tees!!! Will the madness never end?

K.G.