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It seems I had gotten used to the many days of working from home and then not working from home. And then being unemployed. Working from 9 to 5…. Wait. When was the last time anyone worked 9 to 5? When is the last time an employer paid for lunch hour? What would Dolly Parton do these days? “Working 8 to 5?” “Working 9 to 6?” Neither of those scans very well. I don’t work either of those, anyway. But it makes me a very tired fella by the time I get home.

Dinner. I don’t even want to think about dinner anymore. I’m getting to the point where I just want to toss something in the microwave and hope it comes out looking half as decent as it looks on the box. It never does, though. Except for one particular Mexican frozen food thing. I don’t remember who makes it. But the hot sauce is actually hot. And they’re cheap.

So. Dinner. Don’t want to think about it. If I make dinner I end up eating at 9pm or 10pm. But I’m so freaking tired these days. Even if I had a life I don’t think I’d have time for one anymore. Of course, if I had a life I’d probably be going out to dinner a lot, getting a lot of energy from being out with people and stuff. What a shame.

My therapist thinks I should join an organization. Do charity work. She’s fixated on Habitat for Humanity, bless her heart. Personally, I would fear for the person that lived in the house that I built. I’m not a handy person. Frighteningly not handy. But, then again, perhaps if I were to go someplace where people knew what they were doing I could pick up some handy skills. Unfortunately, I don’t feel like I have the time now.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m not. It’s just taking some getting used to. At least now my brain is occupied most of the time and I don’t have to sit in the dark and brood on the past. And with the holidays coming up (again) that’s something I could really use. Memories and I; we are not friends.

But what else do we get at the end of our sometimes long, sometimes far too short journeys through life? A brain full of experiences, wonders, pains, surprises and disappointments. Good and bad. High and low. A cranium full of life soup where some things blend together and some things rise and separate. But it’s all us. Us and wisps of other people that we end up touching. Unless you’re Chuck Barris, then God only knows who you really are.

At the end of the day I lie in bed, surrounded by the dark of night, and listen to the stars unfold, time swirling away past me in a different dimensional direction. I think about what might have been.

One thing that needs to change, though, is going to the grocery store every day. It kind of cuts into my time. I’ll have to learn how to shop for at least  a week. The only problem is that I usually end up forgetting things. And I have to lug all this crap up three flights of stairs. And I’m lazy, so that means carrying several hundred pounds in one trip because I don’t want to go back to the car to get the rest.

I have a phone. It’s an Android phone. It pissed me off so I deleted most of everything on it in a reasonable attempt at getting it to work right. Frankly, I think the problem is with Bluetooth. I use Bluetooth to connect to my car radio. In theory,  if someone calls while I’m driving I can answer the phone and talk without using my hands. In practice, nobody ever calls me so I don’t know why I bother with it. But, you know, someone might call me. Someday. But sometimes it has trouble connecting. Sometimes turning the Bluetooth on will crash the phone and cause it to reboot. Now it’s nearly empty and, I hope, will be able to function.

My “Princess” phone never had these problems.

Back in the day, when I was a younger man, I was hot stuff. Work-wise, anyway. If something needed to be done, you called me. If something needed to be fixed, you called me. If you needed your printer pushed back half an inch and then needed someone to lie on your cubicle floor in agony, you called me. I could do things nobody else could do; I would do things that nobody else wanted to do.

I was the shit.

Then computers became common. Everyone had one. Everyone knew, more or less, how to use one. Or, at least, to make sure it was plugged in before calling for support. Youngsters who walked around with a swagger because “they rocked a 486DX Old School” when growing up started entering the work force. I became obsolete. A dinosaur. A Princess phone.

Then “Skyrim” came out. Once again, I’m the dude to call. If you got a warrior maiden walking in circles you need whacked, I’m your guy. A dragon busting down your door? I’m your guy. You need a mammoth tusk dragged halfway across the world? Point your courier my way. Perhaps you have a recipe that needs to be delivered across the room to that guy in the corner. Yeah, I do that.

Is it any wonder I spend so much time playing it? Not that I’ve touched it in the last two days. I’ve been busy being a dinosaur. But when I get free time, yeah, I’m kicking it old school with my twin ebony blades, making those Silver Hands think twice about  yanking my short hairs. Don’t you forget about it.

And now it’s Friday. The pants are off and I’m thinking of taking a day off writing tomorrow. That means posting this baby up now. Maybe I’ll take some time to create a new separator banner thing.  Or clean the apartment. Or write a novel. Perhaps skin a kumquat.

Kumquats. It’s what life is all about.