A brief look at what it's like to sit around at work all day, reading and writing to make ends meet.
my day job
I am in the unique position where my day job allows me to sit on my ass and do nothing, sometimes for twelve to fourteen hours a day. Yes, I get paid just to show up, tip my hat at some people, and then watch the world go by. Is it glamorous? Not by any means. Is it easy? Most of the time, yes. Do I enjoy it? Absolutely. I have been given the gift of time and intend to use this gift to my full advantage, whether it be learning a new skill, taking up a foreign language, reading the next book on my list, or developing another novel. I bring a chair with me in which to sit, set it up in the bed of my truck (as can be seen in this picture), and ensure that the tea in my cup holder is strong and hot. Why does it have to be strong? Because anything weak or watery is simply not worth drinking (this may be seen as a not so classy jab at those that prefer American lagers over beers of actual quality). And why does it have to be hot? Because I am so cold at all points during the day, even while living in sunny Southern California, that I am in desperate need of an external heat source in order to prevent my bones from stiffening, my lips from turning blue, and the entirety of my being from hardening into a block of ice. Yes, that was a hyperbole, though I have legitimately considered the possibility that I may have a circulation problem, especially when I am draped in several layers of heavy material in order to stay warm in 90 degree weather. Am I a lizard?
reading and writing all day
Ugh! Sometimes, after writing for a couple hours straight, I feel that no more writing can be done. This is not uncommon, nor is it an issue. One can only focus on a single task for so long before their brain begins to melt, causing the juicy innards of the skull to run down their neck hole and deposit these precious brain cells in the stomach, a place bubbling with acid that will undoubtedly wreak havoc on these delicate cells and cause them to lose all functionality. I needn't have to explain how undesirable this would be.
Before I reach this point of mental retardation (I use that word not in the horribly offensive way in which it is often used, but in the very literal definition where my brain is actually slowing down. Don't sue me), I switch focus onto something else. Often this is reading a book (as can be seen in the image above; I am currently reading Blindness, by Jose Saramago, a strangely enticing book that is written much as a blind person sees), or checking up on the daily news, or listening to some music. There are times when I find that my writing gene has suddenly become inactive and I must wait for another day to churn out written content of any worth. This happens every once in a while, and I simply accept that no writing will be accomplished at that time and I am able to complete other tasks.
Oh, how this blog post has turned slightly dull. I am here explaining that on some days, I can write, while on other days, I cannot, and all the while you, as the reader, are falling asleep in your chair. Well, my sincerest apologies for the direction in which my mind took this rant. Here is a much more entertaining paragraph to conclude my post.
One of the greatest moments of my life occurred while I was driving home from work, the same day on which the above picture was taken. I was sitting in my car, oblivious to the fact that my life would be forever changed in a matter of seconds. Oh boy! How the goosebumps have re-emerged upon my arms at the simple thought of this past moment. With the radio blaring, as one often does when trapped in rush hour traffic like a cow being guided toward slaughter (little darker than intended but the point still stands), I began to sing along to Tom Petty's Free Fallin'. Stopped upon the freeway, bored out of my bloody mind, singing to a truly brilliant song, I look about myself at the hideous cars sharing my view and stare at the drivers that opted to purchase these hideous cars sharing my view. And then it happened. My god! I look to my right, at a little sedan stationary beside my truck, and there, behind the wheel, is someone singing along to Tom Petty's Free Fallin'. I know this because she is listening to the same radio station and seems to be mouthing the words that are coming from my speakers. This was one of those moments when you experience something that you didn't realize you had always wanted to experience. Here was this girl, listening to the same station as me, singing with me to the same song. We were a pair, a duet, a couple of Angelians on the road to gridlock, sharing a pristine moment that neither one of us could have predicted. Did she notice me? Alas, she did not. However, I sang with her as if she knew. It was beautiful. We were beautiful. And I felt that the meaning of life had showed itself to me, relinquishing its secrets to a mortal man that had witnessed a miracle.