Time to take out the trash

I know. I know. I'm terribly sorry.

Both of my readers (my wife + whoever you are) are probably really disappointed in my lack of blogging lately.

"It's not like you have a job or anything taking up all your free time. Loser."

They say. In my head.*

Well, it turns out that being unemployed keeps you pretty busy.

I had no idea. I had assumed that the primary occupations of the de-occupied were as follows:

a.) willing self to get out of bed
b.) deciding which pair of mismatched socks and ratty boxer shorts to don and shuffle around in
c.) eating ice cream from the box while slumped on the couch watching "Days of Our Lives"
d.) saving money on shaving cream and razors

But, instead, I'm finding that my newfound freedom from the shackles of gainful employment brings along with it a whopping dose of new tasks and responsibilities.

Errands to run. Messes to clean. Broken things to fix. People's needs to meet. Surgeries to have. Old job skills to brush up on. New networking to be done. Plans to make. A future to secure.

Oh. Yeah. And also, I'm supposed to be taking this opportunity to write and play music.

Like I've always wanted to do.

My whole life.

Really, that's not an "and also." That was--according to this very loose plan-ish thing that Deb and I had--sort of supposed to be "The Main Thing." But I'm finding I have other things to do.

Like taking out the trash.

Not literally. We're not so trashy around here that we generate enough refuse to keep one man busy full time. But figuratively, I fall prey to what I call a "taking out the trash" tendency.

My gorgeous, loving and inexplicably supportive wife points out that this is really an opportunity for me to pursue "the rock and roll lifestyle"** I so richly deserve. We're generally okay, financially, and optimistic about what the next year will bring. God is in His Heaven, and things are taken care of as best they can be without me running out and snatching the first job that comes available. So all I've got to do is take some time each day for writing and playing, and we'll see what we can make out of that, living-wise.

But I'm having a really hard time actually. doing. it. Because, you know, there are so many more important things to do. So many things that a "normal," "rational" person would do. Things that conceivably have some kind of payoff--be it financial or just pleasing-to-others. Things that are "serious," "realistic," and "contributing something." Things that are, essentially, not considered "fooling around."

So.. the good news? There's pudding! The bad news? You can't have it if you don't eat your meat. And, more bad news, there is a LOT of meat, my friend. We're way up past our ears in it.

And while I don't feel it in my conscious mind, I'm sure there's a big dose of, "If you don't try you can't fail" swimming around down in there. Set the bar low, right? It's a heck of a lot safer. People would probably still respect you (maybe) if you managed to make a living as a house painter, or half a living as a commercial producer.. but they're certainly not going to respect you (and you probably shouldn't either) if you spend every day holed up in the basement writing and playing guitars. Less so if it turns out you kinda suck at it.

The direct result of all this trash-taking is that I haven't been writing here. Or anywhere, really. Or giving you any new music to chew on. So I'm sorry about that. And I promise I'm going to do better. Really. I know that we're being taken care of. I know that I should be taking this opportunity to Rock the Block. I know that I need to stuff my stupid tendencies right down to the bottom of the receptacle. And I know that if I don't I'll regret it forever.

But don't let that promise, or this demonstration of my fantastic perspective, keep you from encouraging me to keep at it. Or praying for God to encourage me. Or sending me emails that say, "It's not like you have a job or anything taking up all your free time. Loser." Whatever you think will work best.

And I'll make the kids take out the trash.

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*Not my wife. She never says that, even in my head. But I'm pretty sure you do.

**Although she did ask me when I thought the rock and roll lifestyle would start paying off. I said "about 12 months," but this recent study is less promising.