"L" is for Loser

This post doesn't have anything to do with dogs and I'd recommend skipping it, if I even post it. I'm just writing it for myself. It's dark and ugly, self-indulgent, but fuck it, it's my blog.

I started a new job today. It's a humbling experience to realize that you are worth nothing more than the federally mandated minimum wage in today's economy. Part-time job, no benefits. The good news is that I can quit if anything better comes along. The other good news is that I'm on my feet all day instead of sitting on my ass. I will stay busy, it's not difficult, and I actually rather enjoyed it. That's where the good news ends.

The sobering part of the day was the realization that I barely earned enough today to cover the McDonald's meal and the bag of cat food that I bought on the way home.

All the bad career choices I've made throughout my life came together today and they feel like a crushing weight sitting on the center of my chest.

Now, I am not destitute. Our stomachs and cupboards are full; we are not in danger of losing our home. Some people are in that position, and I can not even imagine how they must feel. It's a wonder that more of them don't "go postal", or climb up water towers with automatic weapons. I can understand the feelings of fear, frustration, desperation, and plain anger that lead to those kinds of actions. I can understand the Wall Street guys who jump out of windows or step in front of trains. Those with more to lose may feel the loss the most. People who have always lived on the edge of poverty are tougher and they probably deal with it better than the middle class, middle aged, white guys who thought they would always be able to earn a comfortable living.

I do not really mean to complain. Nothing terrible has happened. This is a part time, temporary gig and it fills a void until I get things straightened out. It will also light a fire under me and make me realize that I've got to get my butt in gear and doing something about my life. I've never looked down on other people for the kind of work they do. I always figure that they are doing what they can, what they have to do, to make ends meet. There is nothing wrong with that and I respect them for it. I feel different about myself, however. I'm a huge disappointment, wasted potential, a big fucking loser.

I can't scream, yell, or cry to purge myself of these feelings. Writing about them is the best non-pharmaceutical remedy I can manage. It is fortuitous then that the following poem arrived my mailbox as I was writing this. It makes the posting at least somewhat dog related again.

ONLY A DOG WILL DO

There are times when only a dog will do
For a friend---when you’re beaten, sick and blue,
And the world’s all wrong; for he won’t care
If you break and cry, or grouch and swear;
For he’ll let you know as he licks your hands
That he’s downright sorry---and understands.

Don Blanding
American Author (1894-1957)

It's a good thing I've got so many dogs around here now.