If it’s Saturday and you’re reading this, I’ve succeeded as a writer in all ways except for making $0.35 to $0.50 per word. First, I’m not working because it’s Saturday. Second, I’m not writing this because it’s Saturday, and like a syndicated writer (sounds kind of mobster-ish, no?) I’ve phoned it in, so to speak. No, I wrote it early and scheduled it so I would be able to do the road trip, joy, joy, with Mrs. M to retrieve the little darlings.
If it’s Saturday and you’re reading this, my son is lamenting that he has to go back to the hovel, the free food when he talks his father into cooking something, the boredom, and his friends who I get to adopt as my other sons because they spend all their time over at our house eating our food and playing video games all day (sigh!). And my daughter is lamenting that she has to go back to the gloom and despair of her corner room in the shack, the filth AND squalor of it all (sigh) and her friend’s house, the teen girl I’ve basically adopted as my own, whose house she likes to go when she’s tired of telling us what awful parents we are. “I love you, but…” At least there’s a preface. And then there’s being bored with having all day to loll around watching fucking Netflix. WHY, for fuck’s sake, are summer vacations wasted on the kids?! If I had that kind of free time I could finish my novel, read a novel or 12, clean out the garage, and take a nap. Nope. “I’m BORED!” Well, you could clean the house, wash the dishes, do your laundry, get a job, take a shower, read a book, go to your friend’s house, ride your bike, go for a hike, cook our dinner, practice your musical instrument, learn a new skill… the list just goes on and on.
They’ve had a week by the lake. Visits to an amusement park. Shopping with extended family, on their dime. Spoilage. “Why aren’t we rich?” Well kids, because I don’t like changing jobs enough to quit this one and expect the next one to reward me for my lack of faithfulness like modern society does today. So they’ve had a week by the lake living the sweet life to rot their hearts. Probably, insult to injury, a boat ride or two. They’ll come back wishing they could be adopted, not realizing it’s not normal. It’s their “Disney Auntie.”
If it’s Saturday and you’re reading this, I’ll be home Monday, or Sunday because driving on Monday will suck. And the noise on Monday will suck. I like the light show that fireworks offer, but not the noise. M80s are great if you’re a demolition crew, but not just for the sake of the bigger boom. Shut the hell up, July 4. I don’t need to hear the fucking “bombs bursting in air.” Want bombs? Move to fucking Fallujah or Syria or Israel. They get “rockets red glare” in Israel. Because certain people want Israel’s part of Jerusalem shoved into the Dead Sea, and the rest of Israel shoved off into the Mediterranean. I think the world probably will want to do the same thing to the US, if they don’t already want to do that, after we elect whichever schmuck gets the most votes from the electoral college (coughIlluminaticough!!) (It was a joke, ok. well, sort of, maybe, I hope.) Nobody likes Israel, and I don’t think anyone likes the direction the US is taking, no matter which direction it goes from this point forward. I wish the world didn’t hate the United States, but I kind of understand.
There isn’t a bigger patriot in the entire United States, but I’m just disappointed in what we’ve done with the freedom we have. More on this if I bother to write on Monday. What I want to do on Monday is eat a fried chicken and some mashed potatoes and green beans, drink several alcoholic beverages, read a few blogs and a good book or two, and just rest. Because it’s the 4th of July, a holiday. I don’t feel the need to accomplish things. I just did the carpets and the yard. So you can tsk and share how the disappointment is mutual. Or you can come to the bunker and if I have any leftover chicken or beverages, I might share.
Don’t blow off your hand or your fingers or any other body parts on the 4th. Have fun, but for fuck’s sake, keep it quiet, please!! Maybe I am writing the next great American Novel. Or maybe I’m sleeping. Both of these will require the highest level of concentration for me to carry off. Let me concentrate. If I’m writing, even moreso: I have difficult beverages to assemble and they require the handling of chemicals with the utmost precision. I’m no suicide bomber, but I bet there’s a drink with that name out there somewhere. Yup. I looked that up, and I don’t want one. Those chemicals are way out of balance.
If it’s Saturday and you’re reading this, I’ve hopefully arrived at the in-laws and I have a vodka tonic done and another in progress. If I got hooked up as a writer for the syndicate, as a personal favor to me, this blog entry just earned me $483.00, so I can be the “Disney Uncle.” I’ll be Scrooge McDuck in human form. I don’t really want to swim in money. But I wouldn’t mind wading in it. The thing I like about the Disney franchise is their movie intros. They have fireworks. And I can turn down the volume on my TV set.
Anyone know anyone hiring a garbage-writing opinionated ass hole for $0.50 a word?