…shoot myself in the head.

Wait, what?  Shoot myself in the head?  How the fuck did we wind up here?  Well, I suppose, in order to understand the end of the story, we have to return to the beginning.  I’ll try not to linger too long, after all, I really should get this over with, right?

Yesterday was a day not unlike any other.  I worked from ten to seven at my part time job.  I came home and finished getting my things together for a book signing, even if I wasn’t able to have my next two books there due to certain technical circumstances.  I spent an hour grooming my appearance, had a light lunch, and then spent the better part of my afternoon promoting my work at the local library.

It wasn’t that big of a deal that I hadn’t had any sleep, I typically don’t sleep when I have so much that fills my day.

1. I’m a full time father.  Most days I made my children’s lunches for school, my wife’s (when she can come home) and youngest’s lunches in the afternoon, and I make try to attend their various daytime functions, if they have any.
2. I’m a BBQ enthusiast.  I love to grill or smoke foods as often as I can, and the weather be damned!  I also make and sell my own BBQ sauce via ThatGuy’s BBQ.
3. I’m a full time author.  I’m always writing, whether in my notebook or my online mediums, and I’m currently putting the finishing touches on books three and four, with two already self published.
4. I’m a part-time web-designer.  I work by contract, designing or creating e-commerce sites for established and new clientele.  Most of my work is very similar to my own site.  It’s easy enough to manage, or update, but still takes time to get it just right.
5. I’m a part-time ghostwriter.  Last year, I was approached by a peer in the writing industry and asked if I would want to do some work for said person and I accepted.  I write because I love to, and even if it doesn’t build my pen name’s reputation, just being a part of that machine was enough for me.
6. I’m a part-time book reviewer.  Much like the web-design, this is by contract.  Unlike said job, this one usually pays in reciprocation.  Sometimes I’m the one paying to do it.  “Now why the Sam-Hell would you go and do something like that,” you ask?  In the writing game, it’s the grease that moves the wheels.  Common courtesy goes a long ways, my friend.

I’m sure you get the picture.  I could go on, my list does continue to grow and change from time to time, but to be honest, this isn’t really the point.  I was talking about yesterday.

After the book signing, I attended a surprise birthday party for one of my brother-in-laws.

Again, wait.

Yes, I mean to say that; I worked for nine hours at my part-time job, I came home and prepared myself and media for my book signing extravaganza, and I had yet to sleep!  What?  Why are you shaking your head like that?  By this time, I have only been awake for twenty(ish) hours, with only two hours of sleep behind that.  It’s no big deal, really.  I’m used to it, after all.

So we’re good?

Good.

It was a well-planned party, even if the start was a little bonerific.  Long story, and out of respect, I won’t get into it without the party’s permission, but let’s just say it was hil-freakin-arious!

I stayed for a few hours, well past the twenty-four hour mark, but it was time to get home and pay the (piper) tab for our sitter(s).  Our kids were already way past their bed-times, and the house would need to be picked up a bit before my head could make sweet, sweet, z’s to my pillow.

(Mmm, z’s.  Even now, after I have been awake for two hours, I still tremble in anticipation of the thought!)

It was an hour later that I would find the point of this whole story.  The birth of this blog post.  The reason I should just eat a fucking bullet.  Or, so the words of a drunkard enjoying the sound of his own voice would suggest.

My wife stayed behind to help clean after the party.  It’s what our family does, we work as a unit to get things done.  No sooner had I left, when this, kid, began informing everyone of how incredibly stupid the employees are at my steady job. By his own merit, you know, because driving trucks takes a fuckin’ IQ over one forty to do, the only people who can get a job there are military vets and, well, people so stupid they wouldn’t fit in anywhere else.

My wife let it slip, but when he didn’t stop, she first took offense, and she then went on the offensive.  Apparently, his opinion was shared by the other attending party-goers, for rather than standing on her side, they opted for the “let’s just move past this and forget it ever happened” option.

No problem.  In my line of work, you kind of get used to being shit on.  Kids, walmartians, book-reviewers…  Nothing surprises me.

What really hurts, what disappoints me more than anything else, is the silence that my wife stood against.  Seriously guys.  I wouldn’t have let that shit go down if it was you someone was talking about.  If you weren’t going to stand up for me, you could have at least supported her.

“I would rather shoot myself in the fucking head than to work at Walmart.”

That was the final straw, the one that broke the camel’s back.  It brought forth the fuckyoualls from my wife, drove her to tears, and sent her packing from a party that she was trying to enjoy.  Nothing kills your buzz though, like someone tearing your significant other apart, aside from everyone else letting it happen.

Okay, I suppose I get it.

Walmart’s not the ideal place to make a living.  Pay’s only adequate if you work the over nights, but even then, you are doing more work than you’re actually worth. Especially when you are good at, or enjoy, what you do.  Then, you are the shift’s workhorse.  Expect to be moved around to several departments, to help finish other associate’s work, and to not be thanked for it.  They get off on that shit.

What you do have going for you are the benefits.  Wallyworld’s benefits have saved our family hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars over the years.  They offer bundling packages through your phone carrier that takes a good percentage off of your bill. Associate discount?  Winning.  Stock sharing?  Yes.  401k? Right the fuck on.

I’ve earned the respect of my peers through hard work, believe it or not, and have even made a few friends on the way.  Again, winning.

I’ve made some mistakes in life.  We have been dealt cards that are out of our control.  But rather than lie down and take the ass-raping life tends to hand you, we continue to drag ourselves back to our feet, flash our toothless grins, and fly the almighty bird of defiance.

My wife took one for the team last night, but I was there to pick her back up.  I’m used to taking shit from other people.  Unfortunately for other people, my outlet to healing is in the words.  And.  Oh yes, and.  I will write your sorry asses into my story.

I’ll pass on that bullet, sir.  I’m doing just fine.  In fact, I dare you to wear just one of my shoes for a day, and then we’ll talk about stupidity, bullets, and choice of professions.  I would be surprised if you didn’t cock that big ole tool of yours and put it in your mouth.  (See what I did there?)  Careful now.  That bullet’ll come faster than you expected it too.

 

Personally, I would rather mind my own business than to piss off a writer.  We tend to hang our laundry out to dry.

 

WORD OF THE DAY:  Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. Fuck the fucking fuckers in the fuck, fuckin’, fuck.  Fuuuck me…