two shits in a pint glass

I walked outside without thinking. The door closed behind me with a click. Locked out again.

The sky was gray and the rain was falling hard. My clothes were soaked five seconds later. I sat down in a lawn chair and cried.

Even though I have a double shift waiting for me at work, the thought of driving the hour to the office does not seem like a prudent idea at the moment. The boss is going to be pissed off about overtime. But since I’m pulling three “two-person” shifts this week, I don’t feel bad about it. Yet, I still feel the compulsion to not go in at my normal time today so I don’t get as many hours. It’s a perverse way of living, feeling bad about a place that could give two shits in a pint glass about you.

When did I first make the mistake of putting work above all else? In college the first time, I didn’t do it. I just had fun. In college the second time, I put work above class, and my GPA went from a 3.9 to God only knows what by the end with all the F’s and incompletes that became F’s. But I still have a lot of fun and enjoyed what I was doing.

Hell, the first job didn’t have that. The girlfriend was 2,500 miles away and I was a “professional” for the first time.

The internship, I chose the relationship. And ended up paying for it.

Ditto, next real job.

I guess it’s when she left and I stayed. The job won out over life. At first, for the right reasons. Keeping us afloat until … But until never came.

Now, it just is part of me. The job. I hate it sometimes. At other times I know how lucky I am to have such an easy way to make a “living.” I miss writing. I miss reporting. I miss the edge, the drama, the fights.

The people are all just as strange. From whiny assholes to people who don’t want to improve their craft because, honestly, I don’t believe they think it’s a craft. The drunks are everywhere. The broken downs. The dropouts.

Even though this is the first paper I’ve ever worked at that I haven’t developed any “drinking buddies” or at least “talking buddies” it’s been worth it. Hell, who can say they’ve put nearly 60K on a car in two years? NASCAR racers, cabbies, truck drivers and maybe hearse guys…

I look down at my soaked t-shirt. Another advantage of my position is the wardrobe. I can wear a Pitfall Harry shirt to work with plaid shorts and soccer socks. I’ll miss that whenever the inevitable career switch happens. I’ve been looking about. Applying here and there. Not getting a single nibble, but eventually it’ll happen. And I’ll be sad that day.

I already thought my career in journalism was dead three years ago. But I went back with my tail between my legs because I had to not be a bum anymore. Bills and such needed to be paid.

Now, I’m in love and life needs to move forward. I wish we stumbled on to some wealth or she had a trust fund for me and her to tap into. But, that shit ain’t gonna happen. Instead, we’ll toil on. Hopefully, in a better mood than I am right now soaked to the bone.

I’ve got to try and keep writing. As you can tell, I have nothing to say today. Nothing creative. Just words flowing out of my mind. I read that I should find my “writing time.” It seems to me that I write more in the mornings or late at night – preferably after a few adult beverages. Heartbreak and misery fuel the words more so than puppies and flowers and celebrations of life. Which is too bad.

At the end of the day, I can still be happy that I’m trying again. I gave up there for a little bit. Well, more than a little bit. I lost a couple of friends for reasons that still baffle me, and I gained 15 pounds. But these things won’t matter after I’m gone. These words probably won’t either. It would be nice, however, to see my name in print again. It’s going to happen. Why? Because I’m going to make it happen. Maybe I’ll go to Shiner, Texas and work for the Gazette there? I’m sure they need a surly, but talented, reporter to write about how great the Texas hill country is…