My children don't love me. If they did, they would have gutted the couch and chewed on cushions in protest at my return to an office-job this past week. My puppy loves me. Very very much.
I love to commute. I love the starting and stopping, the standing-clear-of-the-closing-doors, the people watching, and the eavesdropping. Most of all, I loved having almost two hours a day to spend with Sebastian Barry and Luciano Pavarotti this week. I realized early in the week that the transition from home to work and work to home is the key to my sanity, so I consider my travel-buddies carefully. This week I will travel with Guglielmo Marconi (did you know his mother was Irish?) and Jack White.
I don't want to do just anything. I know the economy is shite and I should just be happy to have a job that pays decently ... but it's not enough. I've been lucky enough (spoiled?) in my career to work with creative, exciting, and inspiring people who believe in what they are doing. I don't know how to process—or function within—anything else. It's sad. The kind of sad that makes you watch Disney movies on a Friday night—knowing they always kill off a parent or animal—so that you can cry it out.
Go to laundry ladies for the dirt. I know Kim Kardashian has been a bit dull of late but I was still surprised to find a camera crew tailing me yesterday while I was buying my eggs and avocados and dropping off my dry-cleaning. Laundry Lady told me that two local shopkeepers had been shot in the past two months (while I was living under a mossy stone), and there is reason to believe it is the same killer and that he will strike again ... all based on her own investigations and theories. I was tempted to grab the cameraman and film a pilot for Murder She Laundered but she was a little too deep for Primetime. She warned that with gun shots over our heads and streets falling away under our feet (we've had three instances of sinkholes in the neighborhood—one taking a car with it, another a tree), now is not the time to dilly dally: "You need to live your life and fast before you find a hole in your head or under your feet. When do you want to pick up this suit?"
I'm not getting any younger. My current commitment is for two months and at that point I need to be ready to jump straight into projects that I have been too afraid to start. I didn't realize that I had gotten seven years older in the past seven years. Nothing like a week of meetings about meetings, local murders, and sinking streets to light a fire under your arse.