Sunday Night Blues

There is a dark spot in me.

We're dancing tonight, the dark spot and I.

***

(It's the job, ya'll.)

***

I wish I could go for a nice, long, sweaty-ass, leave-it-all-out-there-jog. Bludgeon the ears with Dozer and Hermano.

The leg's not quite ready yet though.

***

The moments you wish would fly do not.
The moments you wish would crawl do not.

Not often anyway.

***

All the days in all my life led to here.

Here ain't so great sometimes.

***

Really, it's the job. That's all.

***

My children are asleep, and were I as responsible as I should be, I would be--too.

***

But the sooner I sleep, the sooner I'll be on that path to getting up and going to that place to do that job again.

***

They are asleep, fully innocent, with Spiderman and Elmo to spin their dreams. They don't have an inkling about the kind of stress that comes with adulthood. Thank God for that.

***

I think about my grandfather who worked in the sulphur plant all those years ago. Vast, open pits of the noxious yellow stuff with catwalks across the top. Once in a while a man would fall over the side. He'd manage to swim a few strokes before it began to work on him. Gotta be one hell of a bad way to die.

Makes me feel like a damn puss for letting this job make me so miserable sometimes.

***

I'm a hardheaded son of a gun though. I got that from Dad, and I'm thankful.

Hard.

Headed.

***

Did I mention (I think I did) that the first song the iPod played when I ran the race was "Ty Cobb" by Soundgarden? PERFECT. Love the chorus: "Hardheaded--f*** you all!" over and over.

***

I'll get through. I always do. I'll keep the paychecks coming in, keep working hard with zero respect for what I do, and not a whole lot for myself to stooping to this.

***

Ah... here's looking ahead to another long, quiet, unrewarding, stressful week.