Bill is out of town AGAIN, leaving me to steer this blog ship AGAIN. He is out of town on business, for Bill has a real job. Wow. A real job. Imagine that. A job where one gets paid to show up and work a certain number of hours a day, and in exchange, one gets money, paid vacation, sick days, 401K, and even sexual harrassment (Bill tells me this is a benefit if he could just get some).
I have never had a full time job as such. I have lived the life of a bohemian, free spirited, transient, flighty (feel free to stop me), scattered, starving artist. At times I pine away for a life of routine and stability, tired of the struggle. I want to get up at 5:30 every morning, and value my weekends. I want the cleaners to know me by name. I want a charge account at Victoria’s Secret just for panty hose (are they still worn…are they still made?) I want to walk into a doctor’s office, and not fear thousands of dollars worth of debt because you say “Doc could you feel this?”. I want to go to conventions and get hammered.
I want a real job…for one day.
Face it. This is me: