Just Another Freak in the Freak Kingdom

(listening to Henryk Gorecki's Beatus Vir, Op. 38)

Beautiful, haunting music by a Polish composer. It's raining, and I'm drinking a glass of Yuengling. I savor my idle time. I suppose it isn't always idle, but sometimes I do achieve an uncanny likeness to a worthless bum. I cannot deny however, that, since I quit the job at the Brown Pit of Sauron, every day has seemed like Christmas. I have less money, but I can do things like bake bread or make cream puffs if I feel like it. Call me weird (and indubitably you already have), but that's exciting. I haven't wasted all my time doing nothing; I've looked for jobs and done housework. I've written. I've embarked on buying a house with my wife. However, I like to do things like wander the aisles of the hardware store, looking at grills, hoses, or peat moss. I watch DVD's in languages other than English. I hang around Williams Sonoma and fondle the All-Clad three-quart saucier. I watch Alton Brown's show on the Food Network. I make my wife laugh and/or cry with my twisted humor. We sit on the balcony and watch thunderstorms. When there is no thunderstorm, we sit on the balcony and listen to the guy upstairs hocking up phlegm (What the fuck? Is this a man thing? Anatomically, I'm a man. However, I must not be a manly man, because I don't noisily expectorate or drive a truck, both of which our upstairs neighbor does. We call him BroDude).

I appreciate the value of hard work, but I cannot ignore my loathing of working hard for something I don't care about. My clueless search for a job I love continues....

Is a work ethic a blessing or a curse? It's not just my imagination; many people out there care less what they do with their lives than about other things (money, status, ease, what they are expected to do by others, for example). Is making a decent living easier for some than for others? I think so. If I didn't mind being a salesman and could force myself to do it, I'd already be a well-to-do fellow. I could sell myself. But I don't like selling stuff. I sell coffee all day, but that sells itself. I like making things. Prose, garlic mashed potatoes, love, memories, et cetera. Maybe I just need to learn to submerge my personality in order to make a living.

Hmm....
No.

I think my problem is that I'm the world's worst job seeker. Where the hell are they? Where is my epiphany?