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Where the monster of reality lives
jp7

The days are unusually cold and gray. They tick along like the gears of some giant clock that exists behind the everything. I’d like to think that there is some ghost in the machine, but it’s just too hard to believe. It seems more likely that my life exists on a razor edge of being and not being. In any moment it could all go very wrong, but even that would only be for a little while.

But

One has to get up in the morning and that kind of thinking makes one want to hide under the bed instead of getting out of it. It’s best just to push those nasty thoughts to the basement of one’s mind where the monster of reality lives, well chained.

My girl and I have been working. We have a handyman business that we are slowly lifting off the ground. I am not the handy side of this; my girl and I are the business end. We have a 1099 that swings the hammer.

The Florida side of things are ever present. It’s where I make my real living and involves mostly collecting rent and pissing people off. It seems that no one wants to pay rent; and when they flush a diaper, it’s my fault the sewage backs up. I am the “owner”, which means; I am “the man”. “The Man” is never cool.

We also started a web management company, when a friend of ours agreed to a proposal I sent her. We are going to build, migrate, market, and manage her web presence. It’s been fun so far. We are doing the same thing for the Handyman and Web Management businesses.

We haven’t slowed down much lately. I like it this way. My previous life was rather restrictive. I woke up in a box, drove to a box, worked in the box, and went home to a box. Thinking outside the box was not an option.

If I were to talk to some younger version of myself, I would tell him to live in the box for a while. You have to live in the box to know the rules everyone else lives by. Plus the larger the box, the easier it is to slack off. The key is to make sure no one really knows what you do.

The divorce, while ongoing, has been pretty quiet. My youngest daughter seems a little less angry. The ex-wife has not been heaping on the drama yet. Time is flowing ever onward to the day when I write her the last check. I count the days. It does annoy me that my daughter is so infatuated with my ex-wife’s boyfriend. Everything about him is so cool, while everything about me is stupid. Why am I the dork, when this guy was homeless when my ex found him on facebook? He and everyone else over there are supported by my alimony and child support. After three years of living off of me, he finally has a job chasing squirrels out of attics. He wears a funny hat, loves animals, and buys my daughter booty shorts, so he gets to be the cool one. I remember when I was cool, because I took her to Chucky Cheese and bought her Beanie Babies. I miss the kids I had when they were kids. Sure they left the back seat full of cereal and spoiled milk sippy cups, but they were fun too.

I’ve been reading Terry Pratchett’s “A slip of the Keyboard”. He is one of my favorite authors. Perhaps the favorite, if it wasn’t for Stanislaw Lem. I suppose you could call the race a tie. It annoys me that they both had to die. It’s like drinking from a fountain, watching the water slowly trickle away, knowing they will never fill it. Writers should be able to pass their worlds on, like a king passes power to his heirs. This way I could still read new Disc World, Middle Earth, and The Cyberiad novels. If Harold and the Pirates, ever becomes big; I will find a young heir to carry the torch.

Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.


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