Drowning

back in the day i was writing every day.

it was a routine. french toast in the morning. pet the cat (and yes, his name was "cat") on the couch while he soaked up the sun through the front window. go to work. go to bar. do the nyt crossword. talk with any/everyone. 

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I screwed it up. I wanted more. I wanted a life. I wanted a relationship. Did I want kids? Eh, probably not. Made sure that didn't happen. Twice. It happens.

But. Maybe I did. 

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I'm getting to the point where family actually matters. Not they never did, but twenty years of idiocy grinds you down. I have never read one of Saul Bellows novels, but he did sire a child at 84 years of age. I won't make it that long, but I have hope.

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The last week has reminded me of why I don't do vacations. I can't deal with myself. It's easier to just put your head down and work than deal with...everything. I'm on my first paid vacation in over ten years. 

It's sucking the life out of me. I just want to lay in bed all day. But ya know what's fun?

Doing that once a year self evaluation.

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I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know if I'm unhappy. I'm complacent. I'm Stoic. It's not that I don't care, it's that I don't know how to care anymore. I tried to figure out when I was last *happy* and all I came up with was the five-six weeks I was in Philly. 

In 2016. 

I took control. The staff loved me. I ate like a king. I had a condo five blocks away. I came in and took over, and it was loved by everyone. I fixed shit, took care of idiot race relations, folk loved me. Simply because I got dirty along with them. And I still didn't get the job. And no one else did either. 

The Exec Chef left three months later. I think the GM is still there. But it kills me that the only, the ONLY time I ever felt like I had the perfect job, in my hands, just...went away. 

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It's stupid to think about this crap. But I learned early on that there is no perfect job in this business. I was proven wrong. It was everything I ever wanted. 

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So what do I want??