Which pretty much sums up where I am, blog-wise, the past couple of days. I took a little vaca from the Internet yesterday and went rock-wandering.
I still have a pile of junk in my yard, stuff that probably isn’t going to go back into the powershed because if it only serves as a mouse toilet and I forgot it was even in there I must examine the possibility that I don’t need it after all.
Here’s something funny, in a ‘not funny at all’ kind of way. ‘Member when you had a career, Joel? Well, this is all that’s left of it. It fits in a tchotchke bag from the 1993 Detroit auto show, and it’s covered in mouse turds. In the sad final stage of my disintegrating career, which I spent fending off homelessness by grabbing whatever freelance crumbs I could find, I lugged this thing around to a series of increasingly frustrating and humiliating interviews with people who were decorating their bicycles with neon decals while I was clawing my way out of dealership back shops. Finally I gave up and got a job in a cubicle farm until I could shake the California dust off my feet.
The highlights of my professional life make a paltry pile I should have pitched out long ago. Once upon a time I was very proud of some of these, each the work of months and in one case years. Now I can barely recall the circumstances. And I can barely believe I really put so much of myself into something so ephemeral and so unrewarding. Now these are bound for a landfill, which is where I should have consigned them a decade ago.
I’m gonna take LB for his walkie now. I’m still a little depressed, should never have tugged open the knot on that bag.
Hey, kids! This is what your grandparents thought was cool. So don’t let them give you any guff.