I sometimes look through the haze of a whiskey maze and push my pen against a thought. I watch that thought tumble against another until the rattle inspires a train of thoughts that becomes a sentence. I race to type with sprinting fingers across a keyboard, across my home.
The realm between which the tips of my fingers find freedom at last.
I don’t get why companies try so hard to push their employees to donate their hard earned money to charities. During the workday. That baffles me because essentially you are asking me to donate money I’m making at work, while working to make that same money. Why don’t I just go online and order some stuff instead since I’m using money I don’t have.
In the past lots of companies have included me in company wide announcements for “great opportunities” to give! Often I can’t help roll my eyes and think why don’t these six figure bosses donate for us? Why am I using my money when I’m struggling pay check to pay check and even more importantly, don’t send out an update showcasing those employees “with a heart” who have donated the most. Helga doesn’t have kids so that’s not a fair comparison.
We saw a bald eagle yesterday, there is a protected natural habitat of theirs near my home at Stanley Lake, and you don’t see them often! I guess I just told everyone for the first time where I live… I imagine there are a lot of Stanley lakes though so the chances of us meeting around it are slim. If we see one another just don’t touch me…
You know when you are a father things change. And when you have children they change again. And as they grow older things change still. They start to notice and ask “why is daddy always going to the garage?” You can’t fool kids forever and I don’t want my kids seeing me smoking. I witnessed it a ton as a child growing up in Mississippi and Tennessee. Everyone smoked at one point it seemed. Heck they still smoked inside in a lot of places to this day that I went to in and around Jackson, granted that was several years ago. I hated it and the smell until I turned 15 and my friends and I started smoking rolled up leaves in paper to blow smoke rings and be cool. We got in trouble because someone told on us, I suspect Gary time traveled somehow and narced on me. I didn’t learn my lesson and I became an occasional smoker and constant quitter almost immediately. One summer when I was 15 or 16, my brother gave me a carton of Marlboros… I gave him a nervous laugh back, took one pack and gave the rest away. When I was seventeen and lonely, I smoked with Mary on the roof of our house after my parents went to bed. We smoked together again in her Pontiac, the same car she was driving several months later when a drunk driver hit her and stole her life. I smoked several packs after that.
After I found out about my birth mom and what she did to me I smoked the most unsatisfying cigarette outside on the streets of Pusan. But it was one of the most memorable smokes of my life as I contemplated what a life it was. I smoked on those same streets a second time three years later after her second rejection and I still hadn’t figured anything out.
I’ve never been a pack a day guy. A pack has always lasted me a week unless that week was during college. I smoked a ton, but I was also getting closer to god everyday and it just goes together… a kool light. I would carry two packs around in those days, one pack was for me and another was a pack of Virginia slims for anyone wanting to bum a smoke. I’m an asshole. Those were the days though… the days of forgetting other days.
I’m at a different point in my life and I don’t want my kids to see me smoking. No more garage for me… or at least we’ll start that journey now. That was a long thought.