Work

Had a good, productive day of editing.

The better the writing the easier that goes, of course, and I feel like I'm getting somewhere, making a little progress with the work.

However, I am now drained, though I'm feeling somewhat healthier after a week battling the flu.

I remember the days when I could pull a double-shift in the restaurant business and it didn't faze me. Sixteen hours? No problem. I may not have always liked it, but I could do it if I had to.

I know I couldn't these days.

Back then all I had to do to stay inspired was count the money, which by the way I spent faster than I made.

I left the restaurant business almost ten years ago, or rather I was summarily dispatched from a certain place, my final position in the trade.  It's been a fairly austere existence since then, but a better one in many ways.

I worked myself out of the business, made a lot of enemies, because I always wanted to be the boss. If someone over me acted the fool and fucked up my agenda, I came out with both barrels blazing.

Or I acted the fool and fucked myself over.  It happens.  For me it usually happened when I was ready to move on anyway.

After a number of years I always assumed I knew what I was doing, although at times I really didn't, but I clung to a lot of stubborn pride. Lord, who hasn't made mistakes?  Who hasn't been plain wrong at least a few times in life?

I say this stuff now. Back then I could just as easily have told someone to fuck off.

I couldn't take criticism, particularly towards the end of my restaurant career. I thought I'd seen it all. I didn't want the kids messing with me.

But that's okay. I was tired of restaurants by then anyway. I certainly don't regret not being in the business now.  I might even enjoy eating out in restaurants more these days had I not worked in so many of them.  As it is I know too much about what goes into the making of an operation.  It isn't always an ideal world.

It's surprising the numbers of naive owners who jump into the business before they know what they're doing.  It's not surprising that they seldom make it.

For me restaurant work was nothing more than a means of survival, which is problematic when an owner or boss expects you to be dedicated and inspired all the time.

Most recently, outside of writing a few books and producing this blog, I drove truck part-time when the work was available, but it often wasn't. It seemed to be a feast or famine situation a lot of the time.

I didn't mind the work too much, but it wasn't anything to depend on, like so much in today's labor market.

Some good things are happening now with Round Bend. If I can keep them going the future may be provided for, at least in the short term.  But how long do I have anyway?

It's gonna be less than I've already had, that is all that is guaranteed!

Things may work out yet for this old country boy from the Oregon woods, who always desired this sort of engagement with the world, something resembling a life in the arts.

I'm in it full-time, too.  It's far more rewarding for me than making an omelet, though I can make a damn good one.

I feel pretty good about things, but I'm drained for this day.


TS