A Realization Which Lifts A Burden

I’m going to do something that I rarely, if ever, do within these four HTML walls:

I’m going to write about myself.

Once you’re all done laughing about the fact that I literally write a preface sharing my life story on a bi-weekly basis, I’ll explain.

I’m going to write about myself, for myself.

You see, I share my life’s trials and tribulations with the singular hope that I am both lucky and skillful enough to aide someone else in their time of need by sharing what I did in my own. Or sometimes what I didn’t do. Or sometimes what I should’ve done but didn’t do in the moment and regret forever and ever.

Anyway, you get the idea.

I don’t really share about myself because I want to read about myself. Heck, it’s my life, and sometimes I do my utmost to bury my actions in the memory hole and hope no one digs it up. Myself included.

Today, however, something slid into place that my brain has been quietly gnawing on for some time. You see, I’ve been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad author lately. That ‘bi-weekly’ above is mostly for show as I haven’t posted here in months. Plural.

I haven’t edited more than the first thousand words of my novella. Which already has cover art even though I haven’t settled on a title yet. 

I’m behind, and it’s not getting any better. In fact, I know that things will get much worse before too long. I’m angling for a promotion which will set me on the path of permanent 50+ hour work weeks. We’re getting ready to move here soon. Tiny human starts actual real in-person school soon and we need to get him reading pronto.

I’m not a very good author right now.

However!

I’m being an extremely good Justin Gregory Wallace right now. Like, the best I’ve ever been me.

Did you know I’ve not only lost 100 pounds but through all of this COVID-19 horse-hockey I’ve kept it off? Yes, even with all the stress eating, I’m still 100 pounds down. That’s nothing short of miraculous.

I had one of the best days of my adult life on Friday, and it started with me having a blowout which blasted off a portion of my hubcap and could have put me in the hospital or down for a dirt nap.

Yes. THAT day was one of the singular most affirming days of my entire existence. People at work, people who count on things getting done and being done correctly, had literally no choice but to leave it to me to get things done.

And then I got everything done including the things that I shouldn’t have been able to get done BECAUSE I FREAKING FOUND A WAY TO DO THEM.

I have been crushing it at work. The entire management structure that I interact with, including the guy whose sole interaction with me was on my fortuitous Friday, has indicated that I am the single greatest thing to have come of this temporary project. Our building hasn’t found a long-term business need they can satisfy, but they sure as heck have found me and they are THRILLED!

THRILLED I SAY! I literally sit at lunch and gab with the managers AS FREAKING EQUALS DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS OUT OF MY MOUTH!

The last eight years of my existence has been me bouncing around from one failure to another and I am now staring down the barrel of a promotion to more money in a week THAN I USED TO MAKE IN A FREAKING MONTH ARE YOU HEARING THE WORDS OUT OF MY MOUTH.

Everyone at work wants this for me. Everyone at work needs to rely upon me, and to my sheer and unmitigated joy I step up to the plate shift after shift and deliver one home-run after another.

I step through the door eager. I cannot remember if there has ever been a time in my life that has been true. I don’t think, even in the halcyon days of my youth, that I’ve found this level of personal satisfaction with anything.

Yes, that includes writing.

You see, writing doesn’t pay my bills. Pride in my accomplishments doesn’t fill tiny human’s tum-tum. I can’t pay my landlord with personal milestones. You know what I can pay them with?

All that sweet freaking money that everyone at work is doing their absolute best to help me make.

And today the realization of everything I have been doing finally came home to roost. Not with any pomp or circumstance. No, like all of our most vital realizations, it accumulated with the quiet dignity of an evening snow. When at last we are able to lay eyes upon it, we see in it all the wonder and magic that are so frequently the fruits of diligence and patience.

I at last realize that I have indeed been a terrible author.

I at last realize that I have instead become an amazing Justin.

I could not be prouder of that knowledge if I tried. And trust me, I have.

Justinfully,

The Unsheathed Quill