She was right.
There's a lull in the action this week.
No shows, no readings, no rehearsals...
Nothing to distract me from the big dumb questions.
Here's how it usually goes:
I use these lulls to get dark, confused, and yellow.
Inside the van I brood about my direction.
It's incredibly boring to write about.
What am I doing?
Am I a musician?
Then I dizzy myself repeating the answer in a cyclone of self-doubt: You don't make a living at it.
Am I a writer?
Well, I pitched some ideas to the paper on Monday.
Haven't heard anything.
You don't make a living at it.
What about comedy?
What about it? You're not doing any of it.
I shouldn't define myself but what I do.
But it's what we do.
So I'm a driver.
The van's getting old now and needs more attention.
They wanted $360 at the mechanic this morning.
I could only afford $200.
Hmm.
It seems I'm failing at the profession that defines me.
NPR did a piece on summer jobs.
A parade of college educated professionals reminiscing about the shitty jobs they endured for a couple of months.
Jobs like the one that I still do and am.
Now the radio is mocking me.
For the rest of the afternoon my stupid brain marinated in sweat and self-loathing.
I stuffed it with tar and salt.
Maybe I should become a teacher.
But you dropped out of college after one semester.
Do you really have the energy to dedicate four full time years of education toward something that doesn't motivate you?
But I would have a steady income, health benefits, and summers off. I could write, travel, tour...
What do you want to teach anyway?
How to give up?
Nevermind, I don't want to teach.
Obviously.
Keep your eyes on the road.
I just googled Mrs. Shuman.
She passed away in 1998 after an 18-year battle with cancer.
She obviously never gave up.
That's a teacher.
Verdict: Loss
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