"An Uncomfortable Routine"

...must resist urge to write about being sick AGAIN!!

Ah, screw it. This past weekend, Stacey and I were told that we were really "selling parenting" by one of our non-child-having friends. If he could see me now, he might change his tune.

It seems, that for the 473rd time this year, I'm sick, and I'm pretty sure that my son—the harbinger of germtastic nastiness himself—is somehow to blame. I woke up yesterday with a sore throat, knowing that I'd been infected yet again. Today, I'm achy, I've got chills and I'm dizzy, in addition to the increasingly sore throat. If I wrote an entry here every time Connor has gotten me sick in the last year-and-then-some, the sheer volume of posts would probably bring Blogger to its knees.

By now, though, I've been through this enough to know to respond to each different type of virus that manages to overwhelm my weak-ass immune system—which appears to be having about the same success rate at supressing uprisings as American troops in Iraq. Thankfully, this particular bout of sickness isn't that bad. Tomorrow morning, I suspect I'll wake up feeling much better, ready to take out my frustration on Connor for getting me sick in the first place. Next week, we'll probably repeat the process all over again, and again, and again...

"Big Pimpin'"

In mafia terminology, I might be called an "earner."

Sure, I'm not exactly brining home fat stacks of hundred-dollar-bills every day (or wearing an ill-fitting tracksuit) but with all the separate 'jobs' I've got going on these days, coming up with an accurate description of my current line of work is getting tougher by the day—much like an actual mobster. ("I'm in, uh, construction.")

My gig as a stay-at-home dad was rudely interrupted when we moved back to civilization in August. I only get one day a week with Connor all to myself, and the rest of the time I'm either working on one of several different freelance jobs, pimping myself out as a copy editor, periodically working a day at my old job in a warehouse, or doing odd jobs for additional cash. I've got checks coming in from more places than Bank of America.

Perhaps this flurry of activity explains my absence from this space of late. Perhaps my lack of posts can be better explained by a particularly frustrating recent freelance job—in which I was required to write a 1200-word article based larely on an interview with a source at the IRS who gave quotes that would have been more useful if they were in Mandarian.

In any case, don't worry... it's not you, it's me—I don't like you.

"Life By The Drop"

I got a telephone call today that left me feeling as if I'd been kicked in the stomach, when I was informed that the media company for whom I had worked before leaving to be a stay-at-home dad nearly a year-and-a-half ago was closing its doors for good.

Sure, this piece of news was about as surprising as hearing that Bill cheated on Hilary, but that didn't cause it to sting any less. This was a company that had never, during its eight year existence, operated very far above the break-even line. But still, I'm depressed. It feels like a childhood haunt that had been elevated into near mythical proportions has just been razed. A chunk of my life now vanished.

It wasn't just that this was the company that took a huge chance on me, fresh out of college — with zero experience, I might add; It wasn't that this was a job that I loved more than any I'd held before or since; It wasn't that the people employed by this company were some of the most loyal folks on the planet (sometimes delaying payment for services rendered in lieu of the satisfaction that could be had in doing a job extremely well and filling a niche in a community aching for some culture); It wasn't the freedom to shape the magazines I edited into whatever (within reason) I wanted; It wasn't that this job left me better than it found me and prepared me for life better than my college education ever could; It was all of these things, and more.

So, to Will, Lisa, and Brooks (and all of the unbelievably talented and creative people I worked with over the years): thank you, from the bottomest bottom of my heart.