I got my first job at 14 or 15, at a quick stop grill along I-55, forty-five miles south of Chicago. I worked there for a total of two hours and 17 minutes because I couldn't figure out how to make the fucking Gyros right, so I was asked to leave.
I got my second job at 16, aerating yards. You know, pushing that machine to punch holes in grass to allow air to get down to the roots and make the shit grow better. I did that for a summer before realizing I was working my ass off pushing this fucking machine around yards that seemed like the rice fields of 'Nam as I tried to dodge land mines such as kids, dogs and swimming pools.
I got my first real girlfriend when I was 17-years old. We dated for a remarkably long time, almost five years. I really had no business with her. She was a helluva lot smarter than me and knew what she wanted outta life at an early age. Why she wasted her time on this guy for so long eludes me. But I feel she got all she wanted eventually; a degree, a good job, a husband and two kids. I'm proud of you kid.
I went away for school the first time when I was 18 in August of '96. Needless to say, that was an utter failure. Drank far too much and didn't go to my classes. Thought I knew it all. In reality, I knew jack shit.
I got my third job working at a grain elevator in my hometown, where I worked at the quick stop grill I previously mentioned, when I was 19. I drove 1,000 gallon trucks of water to fields in the spring and summer to allow for the spraying of fertilizers on the crops that we eat. In the late fall, I dumped bushels of corn and soy beans into hoppers to be set in silos and sold at later dates when the price was right. I hated that fucking job. Not because of the work, but because I worked 100 hours a week in the fall and the spring. Talk about killing a guy.
I got my fourth real job working construction when I was 20. I loved it. Made great money, worked hard and played even harder. Around this time was when the first real girlfriend decided I wasn't good enough. Can't blame her. I worked a ton of hours and instead of coming home to spend time with her, I sat at the bar and drank like a fish. That was when I met my first real cougar.
I met my first cougar, I should also state that she was my only cougar, when I was 21. She was the bartender at the bar me and the fellas went to after work each day. She was 31, and taught me all kinds of things about life. That's no lie. She taught me what love actually was. She taught me that when you find it, to never let it go, no matter what the circumstances, because you never know when the one you love is gonna check out of here and go to the great big gig in the sky. She taught me how to never give up on love. Beside the ideas about love that she taught me, well, use your imagination, I'm sure she covered most of it.
I was 22 the first time I died in February of 2000. That will happen when your truck gets hit by a drunk fucker going 100 mph without his headlights on. This happened 10 miles south of the quick stop grill I worked at for two hours and 17 minutes years before. (see paragraph one.) This was also the first time I broke a bone (my right pelvis), collapsed a lung (the right) and had strange metallic parts placed into my body to keep me around (Green Field Vena Cava Filter-to stop blood clots from clogging the blood trying to get to my heart.) The reason I say I died is because the man I was up until that day, for the most part, died in the ditch I ended up lying in. Completely different I am today, and I don't mean because of the limp I have or the horrible memory from my head being bashed by the steering wheel/roof of the truck/front window or road (whatever the fuck it was that bashed into my head fucked it up pretty good) or the 72 scars I have around my body. I mean, I'm about 94.7% different than I was on that morning in February than I am today.
I was 24 the second time I went away for school in August of '02. Low and behold, I graduated in May of '06. Employed by the Sun-Times, I was for two years, writing, editing and making picture galleries of high school sporting events from all over the great state of Illinois. I lost that job because somebody didn't know how to read and accused me of claiming the same day of work twice on my time sheet. Couldn't have been because the douche's that ran the place wanted to fire me because I was always fucking there and making pretty good money. Couldn't have been because they knew they could hire some younger, still-in-college ass bags to try and do the job I did for less pay. But, the time to let bygones be bygones has passed and I'm over that shit.
I got my second real girlfriend when I was 30. She, oddly enough, turned out to be my first real love. She was a whole helluva lot younger than me and ripped the heart from my chest in August of last year. We were together for a little more than a year, legally lived together for 2 months and I swore I was gonna marry that girl. But she, or somebody else in her family, had other ideas for me and my baby. She broke our lease, moved backed to Michigan and left me in the dust to drown in my tears.
The last time I really cried I was 31. It just so happens that it was the same day I watched my first real love walk down the hallway to the elevator pulling the last piece of her life outta mine.
The first time I realized that I've been wasting my life doing things the way that I wanted to do them, instead of the ways others have instructed me to, I was 32-years and some odd months. There's no real explanation for why today has been the way it has, nor will I look for one. I just know that things gotta change.
The first time I did what a woman told me to do was two months ago. I don't mean telling me to help her in any way, or what to do in the bedroom or anything like that. She told me that I should run to get back into shape. That by doing this, I would be a happier person. I questioned why she thought I was unhappy. She told me it was in my eyes. She had no idea what I was unhappy about, but she could see the pain in my eyes. The next day I started running. She was right. I run everyday now. In the sun. The heat. The thunderstorms. The wind. The foggy nights. The early morning rains. All because it is making me feel better about myself.
The next job I have, I will love because I will be doing what I'm in grad school for (teaching high school English). The next love of my life will be the woman I marry, because I will remember what the bartender taught me about not giving up on love. The next time I die, I hope I'm old and gray with a wonderful family that I have assisted in the making of, with a beautiful wife and beautiful children. The next time my world comes crashing down on me as the ones that I care about start to disappear into the wilderness or the ones that mean the most to me have feelings not the same or whatever starts to bring me down, I will throw the plugs in my ears, lace up the shoes and hit that open road because that is what being happy is all about. Doing the thing you love.
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