Making a Living

Sweet god it's January 2016. Like middle January. I've never been much of a New Year Resolution guy because I'm making resolutions all of the time. Now to keep them. And not let a subtle build up of discouragement tip it all down the chute of postponed plans. Life, being finite as it is, can only be postponed for so long.

It's not as if I'm not living in with #blessed Facebook posts of happy children, but it's about making a living. What a strange phrase. You need to make a living. It can be riddled with stress when you're broke and looking for a gig. Damn, just need to make a living. And there will be annoying people like myself who want to try and spin it, make it more positive. Dude, you get to make your own living! That's exciting, right? (Of course right now I'm imagining the duress of having some mofo force a life on you which, during frequent flights of indecision, I've had fantasies about brutal dictatorship.) Listen, I'd want to stab me too if I burst in like the Kool-Aid man and shouted 'YOU GET MAKE A LIVING!' while you're circling shitty jobs in the want ads, but it's just something to think about.

New Year Workout Tip!

I'm sad when I don't workout. Or exercise in the least. But I often don't, and then I'm distracted and grumpy and imagining an entire french fry lodged sideways in my aorta ending all of this beautiful time with my family. My heart explodes, I die, Paco gets depressed and kills the neighbor's cat. The lawsuit drains my wonderful wife of funds and she's forced to desert our house with three weary children in tow. And then the car breaks down while they're somewhere in Utah and have to be taken in my some kind of extreme cult and Sarah isn't that fond of dresses and hats but does it for the children and ten years from now my kids, intelligence compromised, are tucked in like tiny religious hit men pitching some misguided fervor on the porch of the very house where we had once lived so comfortably. So be sure to exercise in 2016!

 Baby girl. Insane baby girl.

Baby girl. Insane baby girl.

I'm on Facetime from San Francisco and Eliot is looking less than her usual exuberant self and Quin shouts off camera "At Costco Eliot went in a playhouse and then jumped out of the window." She did. She split her lip and turned the toy section into a crime scene. Mother...dear now composted best friend, you've had your revenge.