By Kirk Abner |
By Kirk Abner |
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I know she was only trying to make me feel better. Still, I guess what got under my crawl was when that future in-law used that well worn but still doesn’t help expression- “God’s trying to teach you something.” “What’s he trying to teach this time!” I holler to myself, “That I’m never supposed to get ahead!” Sometimes, I admit, it’s hard to detect the aggravation of a fellow who hasn’t worked for six months. My last project ended on time all right, just like I knew it would. But heck fire, I had worked overseas on this one, making some great wages for a high profile outfit; technology no less. One thing for sure, I have gotten a lot more proactive in my older days- not putting things off till the last minute like I used to. I even started the job search a full two months before the pink slip came. And I have been doing it everyday day since. Now I don’t want to blame Osama bin Laden or the stock market anymore than I want Jesus to explain it to me. But just what could possibly be the almighty life lesson in this most recent take home examination of an existence of mine? Shucks, it’s only been in the last two years, and I’ve been working since the sixties, when I finally started an IRA. Worked hard, scrimped and even had three months of living expense tucked away just like Dave Ramsey says to do on the radio. Finally was feeling good, real good about myself and where the bread and butter was coming from. Believe me, that’s saying a lot more than you might imagine. Why if you were to draw it out, my career path that is, well it come close to looking like spaghetti junction. I was paying my $1100 a month child support on time, even went out and bought a new used car. Of course what felt the best on that deal was not having to trade in the old one for credit, the one with 264,000 miles on it. No, she’s parked out in the garage, a sentimental ole piece of chrome we call Grandma. Finally had two cars to my name. Wow, American Dream here I come. Somebody, anybody tell me- just where exactly is the lesson, the Biblical or scriptural deep hidden life-instructing moral to this never ending nightmare, er story. What’s taking so darn long in getting another freaking job? I’ve checked out Genesis, and it’s not much help. Everybody back then seems to have had everything provided for them, well until some gal named Eve mucked that all up. But even then, I don’t think retirement plans or house payments were anything any of them gave much thought about.
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I guess I could be like ole Job. You know, I’ll bet he gets referred to the most by preachers when a fellow in the congregation falls on hard times. What is it they always say, “Be patient and do without.” OK fine. I guess I can take it. I’ll be patient, and I don’t need anything, but while we’re at it, could somebody please contact the Visa Company for me. From the sounds of the phone messages they’ve been leaving, they’re not patient, and I don’t think they can do without it one bit. Better yet, if I’m going to have to be like some fellow from the Bible, why can’t I be King Solomon for a day? Not sure I need that many horses, but a pocketful of that mullah would come in handy about now. That and you can’t ever have enough help around the house. I’m not too clear where it all started, but it seems that whenever something breaks down, everybody wants to jump into the Bible to find the sense in it. That or take their cares to Jesus. Don’t get me wrong. If he could help out in the least little bit, I’d sure appreciate it. I guess I could pray, but if he’s a smart as they claim, wouldn’t he already know what I’m going to be talking about. And if he really is that clever, then he knows I need work awfully bad. So meanwhile, I’m just stuck here at Catch 32 or 24, whatever area code that was. Kind of makes me wonder just where to turn. Thought about putting my hands up on the screen of the television with ole preacher what’s his name. I’ve seen him lay hands on shoebox after shoebox of monthly dues for that Lamb’s Book of Life club. I can’t attest for it working, but those stacks of donations don’t ever seem to get any smaller. But you know, sure as the world, as soon as I do, somebody will come strolling in the living room with me in that awkward position, and that’s just more explaining I’ve got to do. I’ve never seen it happen in real life, at least that I’m aware of, but I have read in literature where some dude in a jam would even make a deal with the devil. All I can say is that your wife, or collections, maybe a neighbor would have to be nagging you awfully hard to pull something like that. Editors
interested in featuring gailmcfarland@artistmarket.com
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