about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Ne'er-do-well

My friend Ria has found herself a new job with a local petroleum company. Unfortunately on her first day she didn’t even get to step on the frying pan; she was thrown into the fire almost immediately. She told me she was really overwhelmed on the first day because of the lack of orientation.

I pray she does well in her new job, though. I’ve listened to her tales of hideous stress from her former job, the kind that cost her her health, and I figure nothing’s worth that much. If you don’t have your health, you have nothing.

These days I can never seem to do anything right. I can’t make people laugh, I can’t make them comfortable with me, I can’t make my patience last, and I can’t mend my broken friendships.

All I have left for certain is the red mist in my eyes. It’s the only thing that’s left me fulfilled lately—the confidence that I can now take the fight to the streets with the Jazz instead of being pushed around like a fool.

It’s a dangerous gift, I know, but for now it’s all I have.

I am sick of always feeling sullen and guilty. I have to grit my teeth today, and pray that it will be my turn to have a little sunshine tomorrow.

God, please bestow upon me the power of great music. I need it. People will come and go from my life, but music will always be there.

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