My photographer friend D. -- whose eye problems are not as serious as first thought -- called this morning. Sometimes I think his vocabulary is severely limited; all he can say is "we have a job tomorrow!"
Said job is calculated to get my attention. It involves something I enjoy doing; it falls, in fact, into the subset of articles I find easiest to write, the kind that make "civilians" babble on about what a glorious gig I have.
I surprised myself by almost telling him to forget about it. I didn't, but I came too damn close.
There are too many negatives piling up: the individual who is making this particular story possible (he's given to making exaggerated claims which I have to research and then gently edit out of the finished product), the magazine that wants the story (which is building up a fair backlog -- not yet paid for, of course -- of my articles), and my general disinclination to work right now.
That's balanced, to some extent, by the fun factor: someone is giving me a toy and telling me to go out and play with it.
The worst of it -- and I am embarrassed to admit this -- is that I have no one to share the fun with. Oh yeah, I can share it with you (in heavily redacted form), and D., and people who are inclined to be enthused about the subject.
But I have found, more and more, that I miss having someone around to ask what work was like today. I miss being able to tell the whole story of what happened, what I did and didn't do, tell the funny/irritating/sad truth about the people involved, which I can't do with you or even the magazine's readers. I miss having someone to rub the aching muscles I will definitely have by tomorrow night.
Heck, I miss those things or their equivalents every night.
For me, having a good time and doing something most people don't get to do loses much of its luster when I'm alone.
It's getting to be too high a price to pay.
You're welcome to tell me I'm too hung up on the half-empty glass syndrome. Maybe I am.
But I'd trade fun at home for fun at work any day, Jim.
20 hours ago