I'm not one for the New Year's resolution, i mean really what fucking difference does it make? if one wishes to change something one shouldn't need an arbitrary start date that kicks in somewhere after the hangover wears off. If one wishes to change their, i dunno, life, habits, whatever, you just simply do it. Sit down, have a look in the mirror, write it down if you want but mainly just get started on the shit.. and this is coming from one of the most undisciplined men you will find. And now in the true spirit that pervades the shithole country of which i reside i will now contradict myself and say this year i am turning over a new resolution to not piss and moan so much here on the lounge, if only so that when i go back and read it i don't have to then sit in my little room and think about what a whiny shithead i am... but also, like Jane says, i'm gonna kick tomorrow...
Fear not dear reader i have not developed some horrible drug problem or got back on the sauce, no no not me, not these days, and while i am a daily imbiber of the cannabis plant and a frequent user of those wonderful little mushrooms that make me see things and wander the halls of my sub-conscious i am still guilty of dwelling on the shit show known as the domestic life of El Kono, and so while this ship keeps sinking into the dark and cold waters we will get on with the story i set out to write some 14 odd years ago come Jan. 16th. Yes the lounge celebrates an anniversary this month, of course there is another more dubious anniversary coming up ten days before that but we won't get into that one, not yet, but here we are, seeing the year of the virus slipping into the rearview while watching the new year of the virus out the front windscreen, but there are cracks and as Mr. Cohen said, it's where the light gets in.
Around the Casa de Kono nothing has really changed other than my lovely entry into the gig economy, a move facilitated by the Breadwinner but one of which i really don't mind. I mean i work alone while picking orders, i listen to tunes, i yell expletives at people who drive the speed limit or stare at their phone at red lights, it's not a bad gig and it affords me some form of household contribution (however paltry the Breadwinner may deem it) seeing as most of the other things i do around here go unrecognized or willfully ignored by the boss... but i understand, the help can't be told they have any real value lest they develop some sense of empowerment or self worth. I'm joking though... or am i? and doesn't even fucking matter?
Over the Chrimbo/New Year's period i sat back and marveled at the hulking and decrepit shell of a so-called domestic partnership and took full stock of my role in it. Yes i'm as guilty as the Breadwinner i'm just doing my best to keep it more civil. I do not toss out the barbs like the Breadwinner does but i now understand that conversations around these parts are to be a one way affair. Often any interjection or comment uttered is met with disdain and dismissal, it's met with derision and disgust. There is the Breadwinner's way and there is the wrong way and that is the rule of law. The amount of eye-rolling and comments about my ineptness in any number of household areas is comical considering the Breadwinner's refusal to do almost any day to day upkeep of the place but yet every now and then it's time to do some project to which i am roped into and derided for my lack of enthusiasm or loquaciousness but then again why would i speak or be excited to be trapped in a room while being ordered around? Of course the bright side is the medical card gives me an ample stock of meds, many in pill form. I take my sweetie, have a quick spray of tincture under the tongue and before you know it i am back to being the happy lumpen-prole lost in his thoughts of manual labor.
Now before all this pissing and moaning gets out of hand i'd be remiss not to mention the fact that though my day is much busier than it used to be the busyness is actually a help when it comes to sorting out some semblance of discipline for one who is horribly undisciplined. It makes me carve out or set aside time to write and read and ponder my navel. These days after getting the boyos up and ready for the long walk back into their bedrooms for school i head to the old computer and type away. Usually there are a few things accomplished before that, some laundry, dishes, making breakfast and then after that it's straight into the gig economy. Since i'm responsible for after-school driving i make sure i'm home by 3pm so that i can do what needs done, besides traffic picks up and when one is working a batch by batch gig it's best to maximize efficiency... or less work more money. Once home i usually find the Breadwinner in siesta. Part of her day entails a mid-afternoon nap and rest before rising to sit at the dining room table and bark orders, direct my dinner making, babble about her job, all while pulling on the ever present e-cig. I've come to accept the situation and when the frustration bubbles up i usually sneak away to mutter expletives, take a deep breath, find the dharma and get on with things.
The evening is a beautiful time where the Breadwinner and i go our separate ways. I go to the cave, the coldest room in the house where i read and watch South American futbol because as it's been duly noted i have a futbol problem. The Breadwinner calls various family members and scrolls the Ipad, watches her shows and what have you. As per the rest of the day i make sure the boyos are cool, i get them pointed towards the night time rituals and make sure they go to bed on time, something that is a full-time job with a teenage boy who wants to stay up too late, who does his best to do just that, and then is a bit of a bear when his old man comes calling in the AM. Of course i wouldn't trade that shit for the world cuz as we all know El Kono here has a big soft spot for his boyos. In short, i may talk tough but i'm a pushover when it comes to those two.
And so begins the fourteenth year of the lounge. I'd like to say it's always been interesting but then again i've re-read this post and perused the back catalog and understand you ain't gonna hit a home run every time you sit down to pound something out, sometimes you never hit one. Truth is i'm a light hitting second baseman with a shaky glove. That's okay though, like most things in this existence how would i know success if i wasn't so well acquainted with failure, yeah? Needless to say my version or vision of success is probably a bit different than the "normal merkin" but that's cool, it takes all kinds now doesn't it. And who knows? maybe i'll even get around to finishing the damn Wilderness Years this year, the whole reason Gulfboot set this little site up for me, mainly because he wanted to give me an outlet so that i'd stop writing him lengthy emails, but now i better get my ass moving, the gig economy awaits and the bills ain't gonna pay themselves now are they?