I’m having a VERY off day.  I don’t know if I’m just not feeling well, if I’m tired, if I’m just mentally incapacitated, if I’m having one of “those” days, or what.  It’s odd but it’s true.

I was fine at Starbucks this morning.  Or so I thought.  The truth is I’ve been having major sinus problems lately (who hasn’t with the up and down humidity, the warm and cold temperature swings, and the astronomical pollen counts—something common for this area and the reason for the adage “If you don’t have allergy problems before you move to Texas, it won’t take long before you do”).  Perhaps that’s the problem; right now, my head feels dry and full of concrete, and I have a headache.

But it’s more than that, I’m sure.  Although I can’t really explain what it is.  I’m just not in the best of moods or feeling all that well.

Am I stressed about not having a job?  You betcha!  I’m running out of time to find something before I go belly up.  It’s that simple.  So there you have it.

Given that, I still doubt that’s the crux of the matter.  Something’s not right today and I can’t put my finger on it.

So pardon me if I don’t post much.  I might toss up a video or another picture or two, but I’m not particularly in the mood to think.  I’m going to find something for lunch (gosh, it’s after two in the afternoon and I’ve still not eaten), and then I’ll probably work on the novel.  Therein lies a world where I can escape, where my imagination runs free through fields of thought, where my mind enjoys a playground of its own making, and where the hopeful part of me finds rest and relaxation.

I have great hopes for Dreamdarkers.  In it lies a siphon of my bizarre imaginings.  With it rests my greatest aspirations for making something of my writing skills and desires.  There are other stories to be told, for sure, and at least one I’ve already revealed (regarding my favorite tree).

It’s difficult for me to explain, yet I suspect you already know, what it’s like for all interest and creativity to be folded into one major effort that calls from within us the single passion we have for our future.  That’s where I am.  Having had the opportunity to focus on my writing, I’m now fully aware of what it truly means to me, how satisfying and cathartic it is, how very much an outpouring of my soul it represents.  I don’t know what I’ll do moving forward if I can’t make it doing what I love more than anything else.  I absolutely don’t want to go back into IT.  That much I know.  I’m not willing to give up my life and my fervor so that some thankless bunch of assholes can take from me every last breath, every last second, and everything my life revolves around.  It’s just not going to happen.

My intent now is solely on my writing projects.  If I can keep the current book on schedule, I’ll be able to start the second one and have it out the door prior to next winter (all things being equal, that is).  No one deserves the chance to take that away from me.  No one.

Surviving until (assuming) I can make something of my fiction (and eventually non-fiction) is of the utmost importance, but sacrificing my newfound happiness and freedom is not an option.  It won’t happen.  It can’t.  The wellspring of creativity I’ve tapped deserves every opportunity to express itself.  I’m horrified at the thought some brainless company could take that away as part of their regular consumption of employee resources.  Somehow, they’ve all gotten the very wrong impression that a job is more important than anything else, and that employees should sacrifice readily and without complaint no matter how much stress and anguish and personal hurt it causes.  How dare they!

A job is a means to and end, not and end itself.  Cliché thought it might now be coming from my mouth, working is nothing more than support for living.  My life is not about a job.  Call it a career if you wish, but no opportunity is worth the sacrifices we must all make as we hope for elusive success.  I’m sorry for corporate America and the idiot executives who run it.  They’ve given up so much.  I doubt even half of them are really happy, but they’ll go right on working without living just so they can make a buck and stay at the top.  Screw climbing the ladder, I say, because life is about a lot more than giving it all to a thankless job that will take more and more and more without ever giving back.

What’s that you say?  You want me to be available 24×7?  Then pay me for it.  What’s that you say?  You want me to give up my weekends and 14 hours out of each day so you can succeed while I get increased insurance costs and fewer benefits and raises that equal cuts in pay after inflation and other expenditures?  Why don’t you go piss on an electric fence instead.  What’s that you say?  I need to be happy for a job and should treat it as though it matters more than anything else, at least if I want to succeed in your stupid little political hell?  Here, I have a suggestion: Fuck you!

So there it is.  I’ve now rattled on endlessly about nothing specific and everything in general.  It’s time for some lunch.  Maybe after that I’ll post more; maybe after that I’ll just focus on the book.

I suppose I’m having a normal Monday, huh?