Two minds:
Listen. I want the belt that magically makes my squishy belly go away. i want the meal kit that just barely needs to be thrown at the stove to feed all these relentless bastards. kids, i mean. I want the powder I add to my water to float all my toxins down the Nile, without polluting anything.
lazy
I want to just keep on writing like i do and have money roll in. is that so bad?
i mean, i know the want isn’t bad, but is the whole idea so bad? that i could just type and type and type and then support myself and these kids. demons, i mean.
snarky. and i’m super lucky that my kids really aren’t demons and its amazing what happens with age… there is so much more freedom for me to exist now that they are so much more self-sufficient.
I mean, do you hear those words? there is more freedom for me to exist.
arrgh.. why is is still part of the setup for moms to feel like that?
Is that a wife thing too? I don’t know about healthy marriages, but I certainly made myself second fiddle there too..
Is it the technology that has made us lazy? the commercials, when I watched tv as a kid, the novelty items promising to make everything easier all the time? slice a goddamned penny with your knife, man. is that the goal now? even money? the only reason to get some is to make things easier and easier…
education? to get a better job, to make more money, to take better vacations and stay in nicer hotels… ease.
lazy
my dad was born blue-collar but was white-collar in his later working years. and i’m forever influenced by his past, and what is mine. we work hard, we scrabble, we get dirty…and that is how we know we have done well, that we are good people… salt of the earth.
salt of the earth.
i don’t get the feeling that ‘salt of the earth’ has much time for my twittering.
One day, I’m going to sit down and flesh these things out, give you the meat of my thoughts, what they settle down into being once they appear here, unfiltered or edited. when i am more salt, and less laze.
Raised in a family where one side, almost all of them were blue collar, one side where none of them had been blue collar for generations. My Dad made it to white collar and it put distance sometimes between him and his parents, his siblings. My mother never exactly sure what to think of people who worked with their hands. I’m a strange hybrid. I’m really one who works with their hands trained in the academy to be white collar and trying to get a living both ways. Weird.Your words are always provocative. Please keep writing.
you’ve definitely inherited and made yours, intelligent salt of the earth, noel.