Livin’ the dream

Someone would call my boss. She’d pick up the phone. They’d ask how she’s doing.

“Livin’ the dream.”

They’d both laugh.

I’d never heard anyone make that joke before. It stuck with me because it was so obviously not true, so preposterous.

Doesn’t that bother anyone? Doesn’t it bother anyone that most people could make that joke?

The new drink

This guy’s sitting there, drink in hand, just staring at it.

His family’s around him, but he doesn’t even notice. They’re there, but he’s not with them.

His mind’s elsewhere, kind of in a stupor.

Oh yeah, definitely in a stupor.

What’s weird is, his mind’s active, just absent, like he’s in a dreamland almost, a different reality. And the more he’s there, the further away he is from here.

With that drink in his hand.

He’s like this every night. Comes home, grabs the drink immediately.

Hours pass.

Feels like only a few minutes.

The drink blurs time.

It started off socially, he said. But now – and he admits this – even though he still enjoys his drink while out with friends, it’s become more and more a solitary experience.

Alone with his drink. While everything around him continues without him.

But it helps him unwind, he says.

His son sees this. His son grows up seeing this. His son grows up expecting this of his dad.

It’s not unusual.

In fact, it would be more unusual if, suddenly, “I’m home. Let’s go outside and throw a baseball.”

That would be weird.

“I’m home.” And then that drink. That’s normal.





Like something out of Winnie-The-Pooh, Eeyore style.

And then.

And then nothing.

What, he dies?

Maybe that’s how it ends?

Or does his son follow suit?

“I’m home,” and then the drink?

This son sitting there, drink in hand, just staring at it?

Okay, now reread this, but every time you see “drink,” read “phone.”

Plans pass if they’re not scheduled

It’s amazing how much time can pass before I return to a process if I haven’t automated it.

For instance, I missed publishing yesterday. But it doesn’t even feel like. It feels like I just published.

Also, another example, I gave a speech the last Monday in August and hoped to give another September 19, which is tomorrow. I didn’t schedule it, though – I just hoped I’d have another prepared and then I’d be able to schedule it.

Well, I haven’t prepared the speech, so I’m not giving it tomorrow. I’ll have to wait at least another two weeks for a chance to present again.

But again, if I don’t schedule it now, like at tomorrow’s meeting, I bet I won’t give it in two weeks either.

That’s how time slips by. If the process isn’t planned and scheduled and set with reminders, it’s easy for two weeks, three weeks, a month, a year and a half, a decade to pass without returning to the process, sometimes without even starting the process.

Writing my memoir falls into that category.

Starting the podcast for falls into that category.

Adopting a child falls into that category.

There are many more.

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