“Gotta sing! er… write!”
Originally “penned” Sept. 19, 2006
Here I am, sitting Caraboo’s. Down the street my car is getting an oil change. I have my Blackberry and a Bluetooth keyboard.THis is the worst keyboard I have ever used in my life! FOr one thing, it’s a fold up keybord and it won’t lay flat. It teeter-totters from the qwert side to the yuiop side. Going from the – a – key to the ” key is a real joy, like my right and left hand are in a competition to keep their side on the table. THen ther is the fact that I press a key and it may or may not wok. Er, work….
But if you are a word junky you take what you can get. Hard to get a writer’s buzz off of the Moosehead beer of keyboards, though. Maybe this is how down and outers feel when they are sifting through ash trays looking for cigarette butts.
No, this probably more like Lance Armstrong trying to ride my son’s bike: very cramped, knocking his knees into the miss aligned handlebars, gears that don’t work, funky sounding brakes — but by golly, I”m gonna hit the road! Ride or die!
But on to the joy of the moment: Cool music from the speaker in the corner, the Ansel Adams like picture abve me iis so impressive, black and white photo of snow capped mountains, clouds casting a shadow over one of th peeks, crisp, clean, very interesting shades of light. (You know, I Can’t keep back spacing and correcting this cantankerous kb. The little beast is constantly messing wiith me. If Triger ever gav Roy Rogers this mch trouble, he would have been shot. THere it goes again! What is so hard about yielding up the letter u ???? Blah! Deal with it, reader. 
Back to my ramble. I just feel so good to be out of my home offie for a littl while. Walkng around town, sitting here at C’s feeling rather artsy and not at all corporate. I love it.
I am in no hurry to leave.
I hear two businessmen near me, talking biz-talk. Poor fellows, it all seems so important to them, so challenging, and well, like it really matters. I’m temptd to say to them ‘something’s wrong with you, really” but they wouldnt undrstand-even if thy saw Finding Nemo…
Somebody has to do that stuff, I know. Glad it’s them. But why me, though? Why do I have endure corporate life? I have no desire whatsoever to be part of their world. Their conversation leaves me flat, unimpressed, even a little irritated. Their little “mission” can’t be so all fired important that it should naturally elicit such a take-the-bull-by-the-horns seriousness. Well, they’ve left. Their conquest can’t be kept waiting any longer.
Further down is a mom and a Jr high girl. A man comes in, says hi, and “why aren’t you in school?” I understand his question, but never the less, I snicker to myself. Life is school! I look all around me, out the window, or across the tables and I see a world the begs to be observed, to be shared and talked about. People are so interesting! Hmmm. I wonder if being made in God’s image has something to do with it.
Take the grey haired guy who pulled up on his retro looking Harley. He just looks like a story worth telling. He meets someone near the door and they move to the counter and order their stimulant of choice (mine is cafe mocha!)
The auto place called. Rats, I’ll have to leave soon, back to corporate life, back to reports and rather unengaging missions and challenges. Stuff that requires so much effort for so small a purpose (IMHO, at least). Definitely not the kind of work that relishes creativity. It’s not that I have a rotten job, I use good technology, work with good people, I have a good manager, we are well equipped and lots of opportunities for training, the work from home program, etc. the company is doing well, and we’re certainly not a WeSaySo Corporation type of place to work. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not embracing my opportunities there. Maybe my problem is that I’m not grateful.
I look out the window, across the street. Above the buildings, a block or two away is the water tower. I feel like that tower: constantly being drained, rarely filled. I honestly don’t know how much longer I can take this. My hope is waining. I hate the feeling that I am waisting my life, yet I have no real hope that anything will change. I feel as if I let the creative, communicative side of me be shelved, and it’s killing me.
The car place called again. They want to rotate the tires while they have the car. Sure, good idea. Anything to keep me here a little longer. God, can’t you do a little rotating kind of thing with me?
