every morning i wake up with a cold nose and ears from sleeping with my face turned towards the open window. it's consistently cold in here now. it is november sixth, two days after the election. i always think i don't believe in—or at least care about—politics. and i kind of felt like a fickle fan that showed up to cheer in the last game of the world series but was nowhere to be found when things were less sensational. but that was only an afterthought. during the hours when all eyes were the cast in the direction of the television sets, the unity in our little bellingham bar felt good and i pressed the night to my face like fleece.
i'm in my second week of being unemployed, or as i've started calling it : being employment-free. weekdays always remind me of being ten and waking up in a dark room to see telltale dim and pinkish light pouring in from behind the blinds that signaled a heavy snow had fallen overnight. i no longer run through the house on little legs shouting with glee, but the freedom of an empty, unscheduled day always feels the same.
i have no idea where these feet will land when they come back from mexico. but here's some advice i'm lapping up from a saucer like a thirsty cat:
make a career out of living a happy life rather than trying to find work that will produce enough income that you can do things with your money that will then make you happy.
because otherwise i can't do this. otherwise i'm out. if it's possible to scream my way out of undesirable destinies, i did it the last month of working at the law firm. there are some things i will never understand. and it's taken me 25 years to consider the possibility that maybe i can let these things exist, look the other way, and go on to having a happy life. i just don't want to spend anymore energy wishing i could shake the programming from the heads of business lawyers, corporate restaurant managers and other arbitrary-rule-enforcers. because i think eric hoffer just might be right in that when people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate each other.
in other news, what the fuck is up with love?
p.s. tim, i wish you could have been with us on election night. it would've been nice to have a third person in the room to catch the sam cooke references in obama's victory speech.