Last night, I had what a Midwestern house-frau might have called a ‘sode.

One in the morning. I awaken. In a lot of pain. I’m disoriented. And in pain. Panic? No, not really.

Dying doesn’t scare me. Dying painfully? Maybe a little.

Still not sure what it was. Still not going to check it out. Indigestion? Likely. Heart event? Possibly—although my pulse stayed pretty steady during it, so...

Anyway, I was awake. And the ‘sode really made me think about what goes on around me. And my daily battle—or is it more like a commute—between mediocrity and adventure.

There was an incident at work this week, as eluded to in a previous post. Upon my return, my boss’s boss paid the store a visit. He wanted to have a conversation, about when do I want to work. Followed by when I’m going to work.

This man is seventy-ish. He’s fiercely loyal to work, because if you’re not working, you’re not making money. Why would you want to do anything else? Day off? Why, he’s looking at another seven weeks before he gets any time off. And he hasn’t had any time off yet this year!

And he sure likes to hear himself talk. Scout’s honor! Because of his experience, he’s heard it all. And we’re all expendable. Which is why he can’t keep anyone for too long... but that’s okay. It is still a perfectly valid way to manage your shop—especially here in the Midwest!

Where dreams go to die.

Because if you’re not working, you’re not making money.

I believe his ultimate goal is to die at work. Prove his dedication to the bitter end.

I’d rather not die at work, but if it happens, I hope they’ll honor my DNR and let me die.

Memento Mori. Remember: death is inevitable.

I’m not certain Midwesterners believe this. There’s always tomorrow. Make plans. Push EVERYTHING down the road.

One of my favorite girls bought a new car last week. And with it, a new car payment. Plus school. So, she doesn’t really go out any more.

Because if you’re not working, you’re not making money.

Finding someone spontaneous around here is nearly impossible. Even the younger girls. This new girl who intrigues me, I have yet to hang out with.

You see, there’s this essay. She’s been working on it. For weeks now.

I understand.

Do I?

Because around here we invest in our future. Academia may be the biggest scam ever, but employers here are ALL IN.

Perhaps, you cannot be worth a shit at your job unless you are weighed down under enormous college loan debt.

More likely, it’ll create a false sense of loyalty, because having less freedom makes it harder to job hop. And impossible to quit a job without having another in place.

Because if you’re not working, you’re not making money.

That manager will never understand that there is more to life than work, work, work, money, money, money. In his world, happiness is a myth... although those fat stacks of cash he doesn’t have time to spend probably help.

It is true, that in spite of them overworking me currently, I love my job. I love the clientele. I adore (most of) my coworkers. And the money doesn’t suck.

Yet, if we cannot bridge this impasse? And I find myself unemployed?

Fine, I’ll be on a plane to Mexico by the end of the week. Next, South America. Then Indonesia. Vietnam. Thailand.

“Seize the day, gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” Why does the poet write these lines?... Because we're food for worms, lads! Because we're only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die!

One other thing the ‘sode made me realize, is what those gurus and life coaches mean by finding something that makes you hard. Something that even makes you not sleep.

I LOVE SLEEP!

Why in the fresh fuck would I want to find something that brings back insomnia?

Yet, when I awoke last night, I realized (I thought) I almost died without finishing my book. Without experiencing the love of these new women in my life. Without exploring these strange and foreign lands on my dream board.

That balance between mediocrity and adventure is harder to achieve than I imagined.

I did find some motivation. To write. To clean. To adventure. To love.

Memento Mori.

Because if I’m not working, I’m not making money? Nonsense.