Then I Thought: What Have I Got to Grieve About?
I mean, it's not like I have a job where I am too qualified for the things I do, but not qualified enough to really start raking by getting one of those mythical whatchacallits. You know the ones I'm talking about. Raises? Promotions? I hear people talk about those things and I listen while they wax poetic (you don't know what it means, either, so bag it) about Long Term Incentive Plans, stock options, and country club memberships.
It's not like I have to go home from the job I love and weed eat (Note to City Grievers - You don't want to know) the creek bank. During which weed eating I'll potentially have to fend off a family of rabid muskrats and after which my calves will be covered with so much slimy green organic matter that I'll look like The Hulk from the knees down --my calves are real, and they're spectacular.
It's not like I'll have to watch Ryan Seacrest tonight.
It's not like I'll sit and wonder how much different my life would have been if I had just sacked up and went towards that journalism degree instead of the one in engineering. The one in engineering (you know, Pre-Business) that became a Finance degree from a school with a terrible business department that doesn't qualify me for anything other than a job where I'm overqualified, but not qualified enough.
It's not like that job will keep me from probably ever finishing this novel that's living in my head, Chapters 6-whatever dying from suffocation while One through Five lay dormant on a Micro Sd card inside my Curve.
It's not like gas prices (Note to Mass Transit Grievers: Eat My Poo) are unreasonable and the decision to buy a V8 rears its ugly head regularly. Yeah, it goes fast. The car, too.
It's not like I'm having trouble knocking off the last fifteen pounds to take me from Soft Tight End to Slow Quarterback size, down from Lumpy Linebacker at the start of the year.
It's not like I've got two daughters under the age of eight, the oldest of whom already has body issues that make me want to murder society as a whole.
It's not like I find it necessary to look up the proper spelling of society every time I use the word. Necessary, too.
Sorry, Chiles, but I guess that this is my last post, since I'm obviously at peace with myself.
Welcome aboard, Puddy.
Bullseye.
So, I'm reading your post and I am hearing Harry Chapin's Taxi.
I am also hearing Les Miserables I Dreamed a Dream.
Life's a bitch, ain't it?
Posted by: Jackie | May 07, 2008 at 12:58 PM
"So, I'm reading your post and I am hearing Harry Chapin's Taxi.
I am also hearing Les Miserables I Dreamed a Dream."
Wow, I'm way off. I was hearing Nathaniel Hale's "I Need a Bitch."
Posted by: Jack Klompus | May 07, 2008 at 01:22 PM
I'm hearing Heartbreak Beat by the Psychedelic Furs but admittedly that songs been stuck in my head for the past 20 years.
It's not like I'll have to watch Ryan Seacrest tonight.
So, are you saying that AI has such a strangle hold on you that you have no choice but to watch or that you're so whipped that your wife is actually able to make you watch?
Posted by: Art Vandelay | May 07, 2008 at 01:46 PM
Wait, that part wasn't a grievance. Lost in the editing.
Actually i usually watch, but this season has sucked.
Posted by: puddy | May 07, 2008 at 01:56 PM