Looking for Joy

I was the driver and we went to a Christmas party last night.  After, I watched a dumb movie until I couldn’t suspend my disbelief or maintain my concentration any more.  I switched to Dexter, predictable Dexter, as I do en-joy the show, but I fell asleep before one episode was over.  I woke up on the couch again today, no joy there.  I washed the dishes left in the sink from yesterday, a little joy.  I got a tiny, tiny goodbye kiss from the perfect woman, a little more joy.  I confess I lamented after it was over, because it was “goodbye.”  I had to let her go.  I dressed, took out the trash, packed lunch, poured coffee, and went to work, after the kids caught their buses and she left for her job.  And a woman named Joy was in the break room.
I’m not kidding.

I can find Joy, but I’m too tired, or there’s no time to enjoy the moment, or she’s the wrong one.

Some rich successful people say “do what you love, the money will follow.”  I call bullshit on that.  I have to have money first, then I have time to do what I love, and then we’ll see how that theory pans out.

And when I try to do what I love without a lot of money, that only costs a little extra and she’s worth it, but she’s most often controlling or unresponsive or too busy, or worse bitter and rejecting.  And there’s absolutely no money in that.  I wish there was money to be had loving my wife, but she doesn’t have an ATM in there.  We’ve “discussed” money before.  When I’m depressed because I haven’t won the lottery yet, which is whenever I’m depressed, it’s one of my hot-buttons, and during at least one of those discussions she literally told me “I can’t pull money out of my ass.”

How we EVER got married I will never understand except as a twisted half-joke, half-delight, from God.  Anyone who denies that God has a sense of humour, after considering the rest of creation, should look at this relationship.  But she makes me laugh when we’re not discussing one of my hot-issues, there’s joy there.  And I have to say, although I’m not fortunate enough to have a wife whose ass operates as an ATM when I push her buttons, that ass is the FINEST one ever created.  And the rest is, too.  Still.  After more than 20 years of suffering/joy all blended like a tropical cocktail.  Yeah, there’s joy in a little rum beverage once in a while.

I had a hurricane, once.

I find joy in writing, so there’s this, too.

And I get to go home after a while, I’ll try to enjoy that.  I wish the best part of the day wasn’t when it was almost over.  I’m too tired to enjoy my joy by that time.  Weekends are full of the honey-do list, cajoling and pleading with the kids to help and at least not hinder, and listening to people bitch about how much work they have to do, be it housework (oh shit, that’s me!), shopping (her) and housework (her, but… as if!)  or home work (the kids’ go-to excuse for not doing shit to help with the housework). I find precious little joy when I’m at home.

And the Joy here at work isn’t mine.

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