Like the rest of us…

Uncategorized | December 15th, 2013

I was bitching, because I do that, and a friend had posted a comment about, “boo hoo, you’ve been off traveling the world and having fun, and now you have to work and be responsible like the rest of us.”

That statement has been kicking around in my mind for months, well pretty much since I first saw it.  I guess something in the ignorance of the statement struck a nerve. All I ever really do is work. I do play when I can, and the road always leaves a huge, shit eating grin on my face…but it’s not all play by any means, it’s just a better way to enjoy the short amount of time I have on this stupid fucking planet, for however long that is.

The 9-5ers will never get it. I’m not bashing that world by any means, but it’s not for me, and it never has been. I’ve worked so many shit jobs for shit pay, just to scrape by, but circus life is my career. That was a realization I came to after getting off this last tour season. I actually have a career, a career I’ve been working hard at since I was 14 years old.

How many people would continue climbing the corporate ladder if they had a 1% sliver of hope they might one day achieve a real paycheck? Out of the slim few that might actually continue working this job that never really seems to pay them much of anything, how many of those people would work overtime?

I just looked at my calendar and realized that I leave in a month and a half. I’ve been home for 3 months. When I leave, I’ll be gone for about 7-8 months, then rinse, wash and repeat. This year, a lot has been sinking in. The nephews, niece, little brother, husband, and others who have a direct interest in being involved in my life have found other ways to occupy their time and cope with my absence. Walls are building, I’m gone all the time. The gravity of this is starting to sink in. Maybe it’s always been there, but the lack of booze in my system is allowing me to see shit I never noticed before.

I am a workaholic, I always have been, and I’m sure I always will be. I don’t always get paid, but if I’m awake, I’m most likely working.

I was on a quick little 5-6 day tour I like to call a “weekender” last March, driving a band around southern Oregon, and someone called to bitch at one of the guys in the van, claiming that “not everyone gets to run around and play”, we all started laughing our asses off. We were half asleep, driving some stretch of I5, bags under our eyes, and some trying to catch what sleep they could before the next show. There’s a reason why a lot of bands do not tour. Mainly because they have this misconception that it’s party all the time. For some, sure…but for most of us out there doing what we do for any extended amount of time, the work load is insane.

There’s two sides here…and I am in hell. I’ve been bouncing back and forth since I found out I leave in February. There’s a part of me that’s excited to go, that can’t wait to hit the road, that can’t wait to clear my fucking head and get away from all of “this”. There’s also the side of me that has a business to run and a family to maintain. What’s really insane is that I insist on doing both, which makes the workload, stress, and strain all the worse. I am always 1 single cunt hair away from saying fuck it and just staying gone…but how do you throw away a life you’ve been building for over 10 years? At the same time, how do you maintain it when you’re gone more often than you’re home?

Honestly, even sober, I’m amazed Dan still puts up with me. Sobriety didn’t fix my crazy, just made clarity less rare than it used to be.

But back on topic…I work hard, and when I’m able to reap a decent reward for the shit I go through, I don’t appreciate it being thrown in my face. I work my ass off and gain something else instead of riches. If the riches ever do come, I will share with those who have loved and supported me, and built their walls of defense to cope with my absence. It’s a different kind of life out “there”, and it’s in my fucking blood. It rips me apart to show me the most beautiful things that life has to offer and I will never be able to share it with anyone except those who know the struggle. It’s fucking lonely out there. My joy is as great as my pain, I am always torn, and it’s in moments like these when I can’t hide it.

In a month and a half, none of this will matter…I will be too busy working my ass off for the moment instead of working my ass off for the future. I guess ultimately that’s the real difference. I have no idea how to live in the now when I’m home…I just plan, prep, and pay the bills. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out…but honestly, I’m already gone.

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