So, right after I said I wouldn’t break the chain of daily blog posts, I did. I was tired after work, as usual, but I felt bad for my long-suffering wife and volunteered to pick my daughter up from her waitressing gig.
I’d told my wife I only needed a little nap. My plan was to knock out a post while winding down from the 16-mile round-trip errand, and then go to bed for the night. Naturally, my wife ended up picking up my daughter, because my little nap lasted all night.
And it was just as well. When I come home, I’m wiped. Zapped. Knackered. Working around books may not seem like terribly dirty work, and it isn’t, but the fine dust from all those razored-open carboard boxes does get up one’s nose. I’m on my feet all day, hauling waste cardboard to the baler when I’m not hauling stacks of books to shelves. I have to take a shower after I get home to wash all this and the tension out of my system.
All I could think of to talk about was work, which I’d rather not do. First, for the obvious reasons, and second, because I’d bore everyone to tears, myself included. The overall direction of the blog may be a work in progress, but I’m sure the Campus Bookstore Chronicles isn’t it. That’s not to say a story won’t come up. But I miss my zombies. I work on the drafts in the morning before work sometimes, but not as much or for so long as I’d like.
Aside from working eight days straight since the day after New Year’s Day, I don’t have that much to complain about. Bills are getting paid. My wife gets up and makes breakfast for me. Dinner’s ready when I get home. So if drinking beer and nodding my head like a junkie to my music mix before turning in early for bed helps me decompress for the next round, then that’s what I need to do. It’s a good life if I don’t weaken.
My New Year will start a little late, but I’m counting on the capital raised by this contract gig to finance me for long enough before the books and the web site and the soon-to-be YouTube channel fulfill my 2014 resolution to never have to depend on these temp gigs to float me again. A little irony in one’s diet never hurt anyone.
Meanwhile, all I have for you is Kaley Cuoco in silver underwear, and The Kinks’ musical tribute to my wife. My wife gets up at oh-dark hundred to make me breakfast. This morning it was steak and eggs. I’m living the dream. I just have to hold up my end, meet my luck halfway—and hit the ground running when the contract is up.
I’d told my wife I only needed a little nap. My plan was to knock out a post while winding down from the 16-mile round-trip errand, and then go to bed for the night. Naturally, my wife ended up picking up my daughter, because my little nap lasted all night.
And it was just as well. When I come home, I’m wiped. Zapped. Knackered. Working around books may not seem like terribly dirty work, and it isn’t, but the fine dust from all those razored-open carboard boxes does get up one’s nose. I’m on my feet all day, hauling waste cardboard to the baler when I’m not hauling stacks of books to shelves. I have to take a shower after I get home to wash all this and the tension out of my system.
All I could think of to talk about was work, which I’d rather not do. First, for the obvious reasons, and second, because I’d bore everyone to tears, myself included. The overall direction of the blog may be a work in progress, but I’m sure the Campus Bookstore Chronicles isn’t it. That’s not to say a story won’t come up. But I miss my zombies. I work on the drafts in the morning before work sometimes, but not as much or for so long as I’d like.
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| Freedom is pretty like this. |
My New Year will start a little late, but I’m counting on the capital raised by this contract gig to finance me for long enough before the books and the web site and the soon-to-be YouTube channel fulfill my 2014 resolution to never have to depend on these temp gigs to float me again. A little irony in one’s diet never hurt anyone.
Meanwhile, all I have for you is Kaley Cuoco in silver underwear, and The Kinks’ musical tribute to my wife. My wife gets up at oh-dark hundred to make me breakfast. This morning it was steak and eggs. I’m living the dream. I just have to hold up my end, meet my luck halfway—and hit the ground running when the contract is up.
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