When I got back, I learned that the owner of the company where I have been consulting had just sold the company the day before. The new owners saw no value in keeping me around. My last day there was about two weeks ago.
My cough is back. Again.
Last weekend I drove down to Big City to spend a couple of days visiting Mother. I briefly mention the story here.
I have kept posting once a week on the professional blog I keep under my real name.
I have a phone call once a week with Marie, and another (on a different day) with Debbie. I join a Zoom call for Sangha once a week, as well.
But for the most part I have no obligations to anyone, and nothing that I especially need to do. Let me say that again, for clarity.
There. Is. Nothing. I. Need. To. Do.
The technical term for this condition is freedom. Nobody ever bothers to tell you that it sucks.
But it does. Last night I stayed up until god-awful late writing that post about my mom, and drinking bourbon to beguile the tickle in my throat. (If I think about it, though, that's just an excuse. The tickle in my throat is caused by post-nasal drip from allergies, so alcohol won't calm it any better than bread and butter … which I also used. So maybe I should just say I was up late drinking.) I had intended to go to bed earlier, but I was so thrilled that I had actually started accomplishing something that I didn't want to quit till I was done.
The only reason I got out of bed this morning was that I had my call with Marie at 9:00. So I had to crawl out of bed and pull on some clothes, in order not to look like a complete bum. Then when she asked how my week had gone I made a few desultory remarks about my cough and then asked her about her week. It seemed like a better choice than to admit honestly that (except for visiting my mom) I had done bugger-all.
This is exactly what happened to my dad. For years he had longed to be able to retire from earning a living so that he could be an actor. When Fate dropped that chance into his lap he got a few small roles here and there, but mostly he pissed the time away.
And now I'm doing the same damned thing. Exactly.
What do I want to do instead?
Well, I guess that depends. There are things I can wish I'd do, or things I can imagine it might be nice to do. Things I can fantasize about doing. Does that count? Because sure, there are plenty of those. I imagine it might be nice to publish the book I've written related to the work I used to do as a day job. I can imagine it might be nice to catch up on my narrative about the trip to Scotland. (At this moment I have gotten only as far as Day 3.) I can imagine it might be nice to write some of the other posts that I've planned since long ago, here or over on the Patio. Hell, I can imagine that it might be nice to vacuum my apartment, do the dishes in the sink, and mop the floors. It might be nice to read some of the many books I've bought over the last couple of years and put safely away for "some day." It might be nice to stick my head out of my front door and go get a little exercise, now that I'm no longer "in training" for a specific goal with a fixed deadline.
Any one of those things might be nice. None of them is an obligation. What scares me is to see that without the threat of clear obligation, the mere fact that something "might be nice" is not enough to spur me into action. After all, competing against all these possibilities that "might be nice" are other possibilities: to sleep, to drink, to doomscroll on Twitter for hours on end.
To fritter away my time until one day I die. And at that point, I guess I won't have to worry about it any more. Or if I do, it will be only because my circumstances have changed so far that I have a whole new set of obligations.
Freedom is overrated. While it is surely true to say that being a slave makes you miserable, it is categorically false to say that being free makes you happy.
Maybe it's time to go to bed. At any rate, I don't cough while asleep. And I finished all the bourbon in the apartment an hour ago. Besides, sleep is always pleasant … no mights about it.
Sweet dreams.
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