Some Jobs Make You A Bad Parent

I am not a member of the Cult of Jobs.

You won’t find me ranting and raving about how anything that isn’t made by Apple is inferior.

I am not a sycophant or Kool-Aid drinker and I have been known to refer to Steve Jobs as Voldemort but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate him or Apple.

But we can save the saint or sinner conversations for a different day when I am not thinking about how I want to say take this job and shove it.

Been there just short of a month and I can’t think of a week that hasn’t gone by in which I haven’t felt like sticking needles in my eyes or throwing myself down the stairs.

Don’t worry, I don’t really want to blind or cripple myself in any fashion. I am just trying to illustrate the strength of my feelings about this position.

Some Jobs Make You A Bad Parent

Some jobs are bad for parenting because of how they impact your time and some are bad because of how they impact your mood.

This one has managed to touch upon both but there is no joy in shouting “Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner” for this achievement.

If you asked me to explain the who, what, why and when you might shake your head and wonder why Old Jack Steiner is going ape shit about this, especially since he was desperate to find something a new gig.

And in response you’d see Old Jack Steiner tell you about gut feelings, intuition and this overwhelming sense that this cannot be anything but a bridge between the past, present and future.

When he wasn’t preening on like an obnoxious fool in the third person he’d tell you about how frustration is fueling his anger and that much of it was focused upon himself.

Yep, I am pissed off with me because this visceral reaction to the position seems to be far stronger than it should be and I can’t figure out why.

I am not married to it nor am I an indentured servant.

All I need to do is find something else.

A Reason To Put On Pants

Maybe part of the reason this position sets me off is because I feel like I was forced to take it and it is not for me anymore.

Maybe it is because of a number of other little details that individually would have little impact upon me but collectively feel like a thousand  paper cuts.

Part of it is the feeling that the work never ends and the compensation isn’t significant enough for me to ignore the extra hours I put in the early morning and evening.

I should be grateful because it does more than give me a reason to put on pants.

It ensures that in the short term things don’t go from bad to “I don’t want to think about it.”

That is a good thing but my gratitude doesn’t wipe out the bad taste in my mouth.

Nor does it prevent me from being short tempered with everyone. I am tired of snapping at the kids about stupid crap that normally doesn’t faze me.

It is not right and it is not fair.

Help Me Or Get Out Of The Way

Had a conversation with some family and friends who suggested I reconsider my position about some of this and told them they need to help me or get out of the way.

And by help I mean they need to understand I know what direction I am trying to drive things and I am not willing to ignore the vision I see in my eyes.

Someone told me that 46 isn’t old and I should relax because there is plenty of time but they don’t get it. They don’t recognize I have drawn a line in the sand.

I have set aside many dreams but some won’t be added to the mix because I can’t do it.

Can’t always plan on a future that might not happen as I hope so I am taking control of the very little I can now.

It is not just because my children deserve better, it is because I deserve it too.

So I am going for it.

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And now as a special treat I present you with a piece called Jericho.

I met Jericho in a time and place that no longer exist. The people we were are long since gone. Now they drift through time and space in a place that I call memory or perhaps it is just my imagination. If you ask Jericho she’d probably push for imagination. She’d want to say that what I remember has been obscured by my own desire for the future. She’d tell you that it was never as good as I remember it.

But if you took her aside and caught her in one of those moments she’d admit that it was exactly the way I remember. She’d admit that as the queen of low expectations it is easier to think of things that way. She’d tell you that to really remember is too painful, too tragic. So old Jericho set up those walls, long and tall, deep and wide.

She lies in wait behind those walls waiting for the future to come. She lies behind those walls and watches the days pass in front of her. There are some really happy times, some good moments that make her think that she can do this for a while. Good things come and she smiles and thinks that life might not be exactly what she wants it to be, but for now this will work.

And me, well I stand outside and stare at the wall. I stand and look and wonder how they grew to be so tall. Too stubborn or too dumb to give up I continue my assault upon them. Every day I look for a way to breach them. Every day I search for a nook or cranny that I can use to start weakening more sections.

Sometimes I see Jericho looking out at me. Sometimes I see her staring at me, a wistful smile on her face. Sometimes I catch her shaking her head. She wonders if I am going to continue to live in denial about the circumstances that placed us here. But I think that she knows that I am not the sort to give up. I…keep….moving…forward….

I have a mental diary of the tactics I have used to try and breach Jericho’s walls. There was a frontal assault that was used to try and gauge the strength of the defenses. Some progress was made by eventually the defense asserted itself and we withdrew. There were flanking movements that had minor success, but still didn’t amount to much. An attempt to climb over failed as did the tunnel beneath.

In between the attempts I have continued to pepper Jericho with reminders of what could be and paintings of the dream. It has been slow going, but I am ultimately a patient man. Those walls will come down, of that I am certain. What I had to remind myself was that Jericho erected those walls for a reason. I may disagree with the reason, but the smart move is to bide my time.

A well planned siege can work. There is no need to plan my own D-Day.

So I remind myself that the current situation is just a moment in time. A moment in time that can become nothing more than a memory or it can become reality. With this in mind I have made a point of mixing up my tactics. Sometimes I withdraw all of my forces and take some R&R. Inevitably Jericho’s natural curiosity drives her out of the tower and she engages in her own reconnaisance. She always finds me.

Life may be a series of random acts but some things seem to be more than coincidence. It is a discussion that Jericho and I have had more than once. One day I suppose I’ll have the chance to look back upon this life and determine whether I was right or wrong about that belief.

In the meantime you can find me at my post watching and waiting. One day, one way or another those walls are going to come tumbling down.