Published on August 19th, 2014 | by Richard Black0
Gainful Employment and My Inevitable End a la “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape”
So it’s recently been brought to my attention that, with the upcoming purchase of the new home, I’m expected to find a job. While not entirely unexpected I have to say that I greeted the news with…well less than an enthusiastic response.
Now I’ve always imagined that I will be joining the workforce at some point. “At some point” is one of my favorite phrases by the way and one that will most likely result in my untimely demise. It took my wife some time but after a few years Laura finally discovered that the phrase “at some point” denotes a certain time in the future at which the problem has resolved itself or she has forgotten the issue.
“I’ll clean under the refrigerator at some point,” is one example in which I’d use the phrase. “I’ll pick up your insulin at some point,” is another. I’m also fairly certain I’ve agreed to a vasectomy “at some point” as well. I couldn’t say. I pretty much zone out once Darcy goes to bed and Laura asks sooooo many questions.
Until recently the tactic has worked pretty well. I haven’t cleaned under the refrigerator in a decade and as far as I know my wife still has access to insulin. There’s a distinct possibility I’ve had a vasectomy at some point in the past. I seem to recall a few weeks shortly after my daughter was born when my testicles were incredibly tender but that could have just been my wife’s response to labor and birth. I really don’t remember much from that period in my life and nothing definitive has shown up in the journal I kept.
Anywho “at some point” has worked pretty well so far. Until it didn’t and that was the point I considered “going out for a pack of cigarettes” in the parlance of our parent’s time. Which brings me back around to my main point; the fact that I’m going to have to find gainful employment within a year. I’m not entirely comfortable with the concept. Other than room, board and the occasional sexual favor I haven’t been compensated for my time for more than five years and I was hoping to ease my way back into the workforce. Years perhaps but possibly even decades.
Suddenly it appears as if my time horizon has been shortened and that’s probably for the best. The truth is that every year I’ve spent at home to date has probably removed five from my lifespan and once Darcy ends up in school I’m pretty sure that figure will jump to a decade. Considering the fact that I’ve got the body of a sixty year old man I don’t have a lot of time.
Given my sedentary lifestyle and dietary habits I conservatively estimate that I will gain two pounds a day once my daughter is in kindergarten. I’ll start to watch the daytime soap operas (which I will inevitably begin calling “my stories”) and reading the National Enquirer (which I will call “the news”) from my bed until I die from a massive coronary. My body will inevitably discovered by my wife’s lover/yoga instructor and a few days later my 800 pound corpse will be hoisted out of the second story window by a crane much to my family’s embarrassment.
It’s sad really but sometimes this sort of thing can’t be avoided.