I have a grown-up job. During the day, I procure government contracts for an environmental consulting company. I have an office with a window and a view, an endless supply of coffee, a laptop, a bookshelf, file cabinets, and lots of paperwork cluttering my desk space.
Wowie, eh? That all sounds very important. When I tell people what I do (grudgingly, as I rarely offer up this information without a fight), they reply with, "That sounds interesting." Yeah, not really. In fact, most days, it is dreadfully boring here. And other days, I feel like my creative spirit is dying. Actually dying. I worry that one day, I will give up on everything I want out of life. No, that's not true. The heat in this office makes me dramatic.
Today is one of those days. I've dubbed such days "soul-melts". As in, "Aye carumba! It sure was a soul-melt today!"
Sometime in the afternoon, I decided to leave the office and do...well, nothing. Because doing nothing outside beats doing nothing inside. So I drove to Starbucks, got a frappucino, blasted the fancy radio of old-man car, and wandered aimlessly around Englewood.
Past the Funtastic Fun indoor amusement park, which I'm sure is just a cover for the Colorado mafia.
Past the 10-feet-tall metal grass growing in the middle of Broadway.
Under the overpasses filled with pigeons and poop.
See? Look at all those pigeons and poop.
And to the car wash. The last rain storm caked orange mud onto my car. The effect was neat, though it proved to be somewhat of an impairment while driving.
I love the car washes in which you crank the machine full of quarters, then you do all the foaming and spraying yourself. It beats the hell out of sitting in an automatic wash where you can't even have your radio antennae up (learned that one the dumb way). I like to pretend that, rather than a water sprayer, it's a flame-thrower. "Die, old-man car! Die! Whoooosh!"
(Don't get me wrong: I have no hard feelings against my car. It's just that I think it would be pretty much illegal to flame-throw someone else's car. So it would have to be my own.)
Finally, I dragged myself back to the office. Here's the thing about Corporate America. It's not that I hate it...it's that I really hate it. I need change and stimulation and challenges and creativity. So, along with Kortney, we're going to work for ourselves. No, this isn't the bookstore idea again (though that will happen). It's something more short-term, more attainable...something that could potentially happen this year.
But, in the spirit of trying to keep people interested, I'm going to save that for another post shortly.