Time, time, time...see what's become of me...

So, I’ve been thinking about Time a lot lately. How there never seems to be enough of it, how we’re only issued a finite amount of it when we’re brought into this crazy world, and when you check out, it for the rest of time. Yeah, some really heady shit, right?

Due to the circumstances of my life (i.e. the hand I was dealt in this Cosmic Card Game we’re all playing) I spend a remarkably small amount of time not working. Someday, I would like to put a big-time reverse on that trend, or at least be occupied with work I find super-fulfilling and beneficial for other people (not that I don’t love getting you all your lattes and whatnot, but I’m thinking on a larger scale).

I suppose it’s cliché mid-life crisis bullshit to think “Well, I’m 41 now. This could, essentially, be the midway point of my life.” I try not to think that way, because that way leads to madness, and mopery. Perhaps it’s because I see how difficult things can be (financially, socially and in many other ways) for parents and families of a special needs child (our boy having Autism) that I can’t help but wonder “What can be done?” and “Can’t there be some way I can be a part of fixing it?” Heavy, right? I’m just saying there has to be a better way, yeah? I mean that in a lot of ways, I suppose.

This type of thing weighs on me very, very heavily sometimes, and it’s as though I could have the answer if I thought about it hard enough, or differently or…something. I just don’t know.

There’s other things I’d still like to do for me, too. I mean, I have only one day a week (most weeks) where I don’t work at all, and two nights “free.” Those free nights usually involve laundry or some other stuff, and maybe some TV time with the missus if I get lucky.* I have a huge laundry list (which, oddly enough does not have laundry on it!) of things I want to do along with things I need to do.

Shoot, I started recording a new single in JUNE for crying out loud. Sometimes I think that second album is NEVER coming out.

I either need a clone or a TARDIS. Who am I kidding, I have to go with TARDIS, let’s face it. Otherwise it’d be me and me sitting at a table going “My, we are handsome, aren’t we?” and trying to convince my wife which one of us is the “real one.**”

Not that a clone isn’t without trouble. If he eats like me, he’ll need 2 jobs of his own. Also I am betting my clone would play the “I’m not married!” card, stop going to work for me and head out trying to take advantage of gullible young ladies. He’d then get himself, and essentially me, in “trouble” is you catch my drift. I mean, the DNA test would point to me, right? Even if your old lady knows you have a clone, she’d still be suspicious, right? Don’t get me wrong, it’d make a hell of an episode of Maury Povich, but I don’t need that kind of hassle in an already busy life.

Alternately, a nice win in the lottery would be sweet. I could help a lot of people, and I keep telling God I won’t spend all of it on tattoos and girls. After all, I only want a couple more tattoos, and I have wonderful gal at home.

I also do not have a clone to blame a damn thing on.

* Seriously, how good has Walking Dead been this year? Wow!

** I know what you’re thinking, but it would probably devolve into a Doctor Who Trivia contest