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I'd Have To Be Smart I talked with my ISP about clicking on one of the "email the prop" buttons on this page, sending an email and then not having it show up. I can send them from the office and I do receive them from others, but I'm not sure I receive any that are initiated by clicking on one of the email icons on this site. I guess I'd better find out. This question was initiated by a reader who has sent me emails that didn't arrive. Technology is wonderful. Say it twice. I work for a company with "American President" in its name so, of course, we don't take President's Day off. No complaints, particularly: They give us three floating holidays to take any time we want, so everybody shrugs their shoulders and takes advantage of the additional parking and the lack of traffic. I'm going to have to schedule time every day to work on this PhotoShop course I'm taking over the Internet. I went through the lesson on using the History Pallet, the History Brush and the History Eraser and realized I didn't have a clue, which, through bitter experience, means practice. Every night. I still have no idea how people like my sister have the time to work, raise a child, practice (in her case) swimming and still get eight hours sleep at night. I'm sitting here thinking how I might write this, about taking the laundry down to have it done (not to actually do it myself, you understand, but to have it washed and folded and packaged up), about finishing another lesson in the PhotoShop class and about going to bed by 10:00. This is worrying me a bit, yet others (many of whom look clear eyed and not too crazy or drugged up) accomplish piddly little sequences like these before dinner. (Which they cooked from scratch using wholesome ingredients grown out back in the greenhouse they built from a kit early last Spring after dinner while it was still light.) Break for Dilbert. OK, screw it, let's get back. Still no decision whether I like it or not.
This business of not having enough
time during the day I solved earlier in my life by taking time. I spent
whole years where I didn't work or, in one four year stretch, I spent
four hours every day writing and, for the rest of the day, nothing much
else. Was this the act of an immature not quite aware adult? Yeah, it
was that, but it was also a way to live where the days were long and
the weasels weren't ripping your flesh.
Do I want to spend four hours a day writing a (fill in the blank)?
No, but I'm not sure I couldn't use a year doing something entirely
different, that didn't involve driving into an office every day,
but did involve something productive, perhaps: Sitting near a
lake (a warm lake) staring at the water, waiting for ducks,
watching the shadows fizz softly into the moonlight. (No fishing,
no canoes. Maybe a hammock.)
But I've got a 401k to fill, can't piddle with that. Still, I think
sometimes though, were I a smarter man (with a hair or two on my ass), I
would find a way, let the 401k hang around the closet instead of my neck.
Will I? Well, you know, as I said, I'd have to be smart.
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