So me and the old man are okay. A few weeks pay may have disappeared somewhere I'll never find, but so it goes. At least I'm not getting taxed on those mystery dollars. I'm a sap, what can I say? Money is a lovely servant but a miserable master. And I try not serve nobody I don't choose... heh heh... I chose and I served. End the ranting.
Anyway, barring some eruption I'll be employed in the jet set circuit within the next week-- this time, hopefully, without fiscal-cliff-hiring-freezes. But I had a long, winter sit down with Ol' John. Told him where I was in life, what was happening and what that meant. I said it before and so now again, a farm is no place for the restless single man. And the old man agreed, he came back to the farm at 23 and married at 24-- he said he'd have swallowed bullets if not for his wife, given the work lifestyle. John also gave his blessing, saying I was a rare find and welcome to come back anytime. I expected a terrible row with the man, instead he gifted me a $500 pesticide book so I could take the licensing exam (on the off chance I want to swing on in the business). I'm hoping to do a little pick-up-farming some weekends this Spring and take it from there. Blessings counted.
I've been talked to on all sides for months now and I've finally given in. My neighbor, an English professor, read the blog from time to time and she's been pushing me to turn this thing into a coherent manuscript. On the other side, my buddy Scott has been flogging his young-adult novels around and has learned some things about the agent/publishing type of business. So now I'm whittling at the writing.
I think I'm gonna stick with that first solid year or two-- it's fresher and more consistent. I have 3/4ish of the mess all properly formatted-- just gotta process the rest. It's funny, Scott and I have been hanging around libraries a lot lately, trading books and talking stories. He had the finest criticism of this whole blog-- It's too damn serious all the time and that ain't you, put the humor and humanity back in it, otherwise it's a just a suffering list. Ha ha! That one did me in-- with that in mind, the whole project can make sense. There are months of work to do on that alone.
I've learned a sad self lesson: I got the discipline of granite, so long as someone else is calling the shots. Without the plan, I just turn into a little lost schoolboy without his teacher. That won't do anymore.
Time for humorous interlude (I am practicing)!
A Harvard boy went up to a construction site to get a summer job. The foreman said, alright, have you worked this gig before? Tell me, what's the difference between a joist and a girder? The boy said, easy! Joist wrote Ulysses and Girder wrote Faust. Hay-o! It takes all kinds in this world folks!
What's the only use for a Yale diploma? Parking in the handicap spaces! Hay-o!
What's the difference between jam and jelly?
Lots of life these days ain't peachy, most of this current predicament is admittedly grim, but who cares. Everything and all situations change-- and no peace is perfect. So I'm trying, again and something new. Finishing the book thing would let me breathe deep for a long time. I'd feel a lot more steady in the skin.
Blah blah, what a shitty sort of braggard am I! Off with it.
Adios for now and Lay Well!
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