The Write Stuff

Somewhere between being sick...

moving into a new house...

having writers' block...

getting offered a job interview...

and then having that offer rescinded... 

restarting my own version of the Atkins Diet...

getting a blister from shoveling snow... 

and watching the Super Bowl.

I haven’t published a blog in five days.

And it is killing me.

But it's not due to not trying.

(Two negatives makes a positive.)

In fact, in those five days, I wrote two blogs.

Two completely different blogs.

But neither one was right.

And you deserve right.

One blog was about a miserably sleepless night I recently had.

A night where I contemplated, but ultimately rejected, my maiden voyage into the land of Xanax.

You see, I had knots in my stomach like I had done 60 million sit-ups.

But that’s not possible.

Only Herschel Walker could do that.

But you can only stare at the ceiling for so long.

So finally I turned to the drug I have used and abused for the last 14 months.

It’s called writing.

I wrote a blog about exactly how I was feeling at exactly that moment.

It went a little something like this:

If there was ever a night to try the X-factor.

This would be it.

I could be sleeping right now.

Instead of writing.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good thing.

Writing has been the best medicine any doctor could’ve prescribed.

It has bailed me out more times than I can count in the last year.

In fact, with every hit of the keyboard I can actually feel the wind coming back into my sails.

Or maybe somebody opened the window when I wasn’t looking.

I’m really glad that most of my stories are funny.

Or hopefully funny.

Because that’s who I am.

A guy who just wants to laugh.

And make people laugh.

I have so many things to be happy about.

I couldn’t count them on the hands of an octopus.

If octopi had hands.

And it makes me feel like a selfish fool that I can’t break this funk that I am in.

My kids have tried to break me.

Fortunately they think I have a fever.

My wife has tried to break me.

She knows the truth.

And it hasn’t set her free.

She is sitting next to me trying to find the right words to say.

Or not say.

I wish it was that simple.

Somehow at the end of my writing, all 673 words.

I felt better.  A lot better.

I still couldn’t sleep.

But the knots had gone away.

Writing is like Tabasco sauce.

It goes with everything.

A few days later I tackled the latest twist and turn in my pursuit of employment.

Recently I had a business meeting.

Not a job interview.

Just a meeting.

At this meeting, we talked about my life.

Their company.

And our business.

We never talked about a specific job opening.

Because there wasn’t one.

This particular meeting was with a very high ranking person in my industry.

I traded in a bunch of favors and a Pete Rose rookie card to get her email address.

I was shocked when she responded.

Maybe she thought I was somebody else.

But either way, this was my chance to shine.

And apparently I did.

About twenty minutes in she said... 

“It’s not often that great people occupy the couch you are sitting in for meetings like the one we are having.”

(Did she just call me “great?”)

“Does that mean that I am great?”, I responded.

My response was one part humble, one part tongue-in-cheek and seven parts PLEASE SAY YES.

“Yes.”

“You are great,” she said.

Holy ego boost Batman.

Upon hearing this, I did what any bashful person would do.

I threw both of my arms into the air like I had just completed a 149-yard touchdown pass.

Being called “great” in an interview, I mean meeting.

Wow!

But what did it really mean.

Well, in this case, it meant that six weeks later I had heard nothing from her.

Nothing.

Not a word.

Until a few days ago.

Out of nowhere she emailed me.

SHE emailed ME.

“I wanted to check in to see what you are up to?”

Um, nothing, absolutely nothing, positively nothing, I’ve got more free time than the greeter at WalMart.

I thought to myself.

She then asked if I would be interested in...

YES.

Interested in _______, fill in the blank.

The answer is still the same.

YES.

But in this case, I actually was REALLY interested.

Dream job, maybe not.

Great job, definitely.

Job!

I was going to wait three days to respond to her note.

Like they taught me in Swingers.

But instead I responded in three hours.

And I said I was very interested.

Not interested.

VERY interested.

Too eager I suppose.

About an hour later she replied back.

And said she had jumped the gun and that this wasn’t the right job for me.

But you called me GREAT.

Actually, I had to agree.  On the job not being right part.

But she also said she will stay in touch.

SHE will stay in touch with ME?

Nice.

Hey, the fact that I’m even on her radar is the victory here.

And that will help me sleep tonight.