So I managed to throw out my right shoulder, which is pretty amazing, considering how active a lifestyle I’ve been leading lately. It’s like a needle burrowing beneath my shoulder blade, and even with some heavy-duty pain relief, it’s been a constant reminder of my own fragility. I normally say that I don’t bend that way when describing any sort of relatively simple motion, but now it’s gone beyond apathetic preference to a more limited range of motion. I’m not sure exactly how I did it, but I’m leaning more towards blaming it on the bed. We’ve had it for a number of years, and it seems to have finally given up the ghost in protest to the constant acrobatics which my son performs, as well as its slow conversion into a water bed. Every year my wife tells me that we should get a new bed, and every year I tell her that we really don’t have the money to get something that will be any better. I think she may have now definitively won that argument, as I’m not sure how much longer I can tolerate her unwavering expression of “I told you so.” I mean, I’m the one who’s supposed to wear a smug facade, reminding people that I’d foreseen the future six months ago or more. The fact that Flor has somehow taken my powers from me is an affront to the natural order, and what makes it worse, is that I didn’t see it coming.

I should really get into the habit of exercising, or at least trying to be a bit more active, but the only times I ever think about it are when I’m in some kind of pain which might have been prevented if I’d taken care of myself more regularly. And who has time for that? Daytime television isn’t going to watch itself (although I think the world might be a better place if it could)! Soon enough, I’ll need to find a job which actually earns me money, not that writing for all you boys and girls isn’t satisfying in its own right, but appreciation alone doesn’t pay the bills. And new jobs mean having to meet new people, co-workers and customers alike. I still believe that the best possible outcome is that someone decides to bankroll my hermitage, but I’m not going to hold my breath. Most people can ignore me just fine without having to pay a tax. It’s always just so uncomfortable to have to go someplace new and try to convince everybody that your resume isn’t mere exaggeration. No, really, I’ve got over a decade in restaurants, I totally know what I’m doing. Don’t mind the fact that I’m standing here in the way, looking like a fat and balding high school kid, clueless as to how to have a proper job. If it were as simple as just following food safety guidelines and federal and state labor laws, I’d probably be alright, but every place seems to need to reinvent the dinner service, and it takes at least a little while to get used to the idiosyncrasies.

Of course, that’s assuming that I succumb to the temptation to just step back into something that I know. 35 isn’t too old to start a new career right? Something mind-numbing like data-entry? Sitting at a desk all day, plugging numbers into a spreadsheet, mind wandering to and fro, collecting a paycheck (and perhaps a bonus, based on speed and volume?), and dreaming of a million million worlds within me? That’s still a thing, right? Or has it been made redundant by programming? Maybe I’ll swing out to Barnes and Noble next week and see if I can get in somewhere in the back. I’m just worried that they’ll want to stick me in their little cafe, where I’ll be forced to judge the customers not only by their taste in literature but also by their taste in over-hyped coffee drinks and pastries. The content of their characters comes further down on the list, somewhere between taste in music, and the color of their skin. I wonder if they’d let me read books on the clock, just so I could make myself more knowledgeable, and therefore a better salesman. Actually, I’m not sure how good a salesman I would be, as my initial response to “no” is a simmering sort of resentment, followed by practiced petulance. And so it all comes back to that: I’m sort of terrified by even the thought of other people.

UPDATES:

The parent meeting was even more irrelevant than I had imagined. David’s teacher could have literally just handed me the agenda, and I could have worked out all the rest, but instead, I got to sit through 45 minute presentation in Spanish, interspersed with rough English translations. I can’t really say that my time was well spent, unless the entire point of it was to convince me that I should be concerned about the future of my son’s education. He actually did his homework yesterday afternoon, however, so at least that’s something.

My resume is updated, and ready for dissemination. It’s a good thing that I got it done and printed before I started thinking that it would be a good idea to throw a Taken reference on there, and mention my particular set of skills. And now I’m thinking of doing up a resume entirely in the style of Liam Neeson. If I don’t have anything coming to mind tomorrow, I might try and flesh that out a bit. As for right now, having it narrated in my head is positively delightful.

Yesterday, my grandson was running around with a plastic hanger, shouting in his adorable toddler voice, “Hot Guy!” It took me longer than it should have to realize he was pretending to be an Avenger. He is just a wonder in my life, and has allowed me to enjoy another baby without having to have another baby. And David basically gets a brother that he can boss around with legitimate authority.

-Tex