Analytical analysis to follow sooner than expected due to a touch of sleeplessness. Tonight, while walking the dog, I had the sudden, delicious craving for a cold glass of white wine. But I knew Wifebian, who was already zonked out on the couch, would not come out with me. I thought, “I’ll just run to the store.” Which is a ludicrous, dope fiend thing to do on a Wednesday night at 8:30PMĀ  before a 9:30 AM meeting. I did what we tell the people in recovery to do: “Hungry? Lonely? Angry? Tired?” I asked myself . . . well, a little hungry. And promptly forgot about it.

So, tonight, not being able to sleep, I asked myself, “Nap? Caffeine? Lexapro? Cold feet? Hungry? Well, a little hungry. I’m still hungry!” That was after I already took a half a valium, but I went ahead and ate a half a turkey sandwich anyway. Getting out all of my emotional hubba-ba-loo should really put this problem to bed — in a way that snuggling my wife’s butt, keeping my feet covered, counting sheep and reading Newsweek has not.

So, this guy, in Newsweek, quoted W.S. Merwin. In describing the process of writing a poem, our friend Merwin said, “Anyday now, I’ll make a knife out of this cloud.” And that’s kind of how I feel about my life. Yes, my life is a poem. And I would like it to take some sort of shape already. I know that change blah is the only blah constant blah blah, but I do crave a good five year run in which I have the same wife, the same house, and the same kids. And the same job. Should I be greedy and want the same car and the same dog and the same health, too, all at this mythical same time?

So, the deal is that there were two jobs, one in Haywood County working in two schools and one in Jackson County, about an hour away from Asheville. They didnt offer me the Haywood job, don’t know why, and I wouldnt take the Jackson job because it was really going to be three different jobs, in seven different places, spread out over hell’s half acre. So, that’s the thing with interviews. It’s a rare, rare agency that gives you any feedback into the hows and whys of your acceptance or rejection. So, it’s hard to get worked up about it. Rejection. Or even acceptance, really.

In addition to the 17,000 dollar pay cut (or was it 18,000?), they did not offer a health savings account so, baby-making was going to be put on a back burner with no pilot light. Foster care, too, since we wouldve had to find a studio apartment to shelter us as Wifebian waited tables, I spent my retirement on COBRA payments and our personal finances fell down around our ears.

So, back to plan “B”. (Asheville was plan D, Baltimore plan C — are you keeping track?) This mystery place another year, a foster kid or two, baby-making in January, supervision toward Maryland licensure and another roll of the dice come March, April and May. Baltimore has lots of opportunities. I will do my best to stay in good touch with this one Asheville agency.

Also, when I do start a new blog, to mark the advent of my new, possibly perfect and same life, rather than this bitter little slap dash series of emergencies, fuck ups and compromises I have going here, I will reveal my name, my face, my city AND I might have the best blog name of all time, thanks to W.S. Merwin: Knives and Clouds. Or Knives from Clouds. Or Clouds and Knives. I mean, does that sound too goth? How about just: Any Day Now.

I would like to thank Wifebian, as she has thanked me, for being so generous of spirit, flexible of thought and courageous of heart in the middle of all this crazy-ass wayfinding we’re doing. That’s another good blog name: Wayfinding. Or Dead Reckoning. How about Desire Line? Oooo, Desire Line . . . I like it!

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