The Box Ate My Homework

I was asked by a friend or two what happened to my blog entry last week. That was the most touching thing I’ve ever been asked. Thank you all for your patronage; or at least both of you.

The truth is, it got lost in the move. While piling up boxes in the Durango and unloading boxes from the Durango, and lugging boxes back and forth from room to room, then emptying boxes and wondering where in the hell everything was going to go, the brain never rested long enough to write. The butt never rested long enough to do a damn thing other than build glutes from bending, walking, and climbing. I would be dead right now without beer.

Seriously.

But I’m not complaining. My favorite thing in the world, behind this activity right here and spending too many hours on Sunday mornings in bars with friends, is playing music loud and slowly consuming suds while doing chores. Unpacking is hours and hours of THAT.

And we’re nearly there, if you don’t mind a lie. All settled in and happy as a lark if you don’t mind two.

Change is hard, but it’s alright. I’m not the only one to go through this, and I know some go through this far too often. I have a roof over my head, a beautiful wife, and two wonderful golden dogs that we brought with us. Life is really, really good.

But if you must know how Tom was being Tom in the week and a half since we last spoke, I have been caught up ingloriously in rearranging possessions exactly 1.9 miles from their previous location. In the scant moments I have not been either lugging cartons of domestic paraphernalia or selling appliances to pay for it all, I have been engrossed in either political news or cramming for fantasy football drafts.

Four or five hours a night I have slept, too.

Oh, and I went to a cool party. Happy birthday, friends who had the party. Wouldn’t have missed THAT for the world.

That’s about it. I’m certain in the weeks ahead you’ll hear more of my thoughts on the end of the dumbest political season ever, I’ll write an obituary on the (finally) failing Trump campaign, I’ll divert my attention to how bad Mrs. Clinton is at being president, I’ll talk about the Rams and their occasional victory as the team in LA, I’ll start to write other things in other venues as I commit to the “career” part of my writing career, and I’ll be Tom just as much as I can possibly be Tom.

That last sentence ran on for 91 words and I’m keeping it exactly like that. To hell with the rules, I’ve been moving.

So I’ll see you all in a couple of days when, I promise, I’ll write something of substance. I’ve been meaning to tell you all for a while now about my twenty-year research in positive psychology, the Quality of Life spreadsheet I invented, Abraham Maslow, and the view from the top of the pyramid …

But I’ll probably talk about the Rams instead.

It’s almost football season.

Happiness can wait. 😉

 

Author: Tom Being Tom

Tom writes a blog. When he’s not doing that he’s usually hanging out with Mrs C, his wife of 20 years. Together, they have two beautiful, golden boys. Literally. The retriever kind. Tom recently started a novel and is a member of one of the largest social groups known to man.

His worldview was formed by the strange intermingling of comic book superheroes, socioeconomic politics, the Air Coryell offense, and an atheistic spiritual awakening.

He intends to save the world next Thursday.

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