Milk Duds ... My Personal Manna

Absolutely nothing happened today worth writing about. Actually, I started to write that as a lead sentence last night and realized how hopelessly dumb it was so I just un-booted (which I am assuming is the opposite of booting) Tess the Laptop and went to sleep. I was confident that today would bear something of interest to someone. Anyone, for cryin out loud.

Wrong.

So why are you here? Why are you reading this? Go away!

Ok, if you insist. You must be terribly bored. I’ll do my best so as not to let friends and family down. Have you all considered buying a TV or something?

Being jobless …. Unemployed … is really a freaky thing to be. Try it sometime. But only if you are really sure it is what God wants you to do. I’m a pastor/preacher guy and, as such, I am supposed to know what God is saying to me. Sometimes I am pretty good at “hearing” and sometimes I really suc…. Uh … stink at it. But this was a good call. I really think I got it right.

Those of you who know me in the real world (as opposed to the blog world) know that my doctor/counselor/wise guy that I pay big bucks to told me a couple of months ago to lose the stress or it was going to lose me. This got my attention. My wife was with me and it got her attention too. And when her attention has been gotten mine is about to be kidnapped, duck taped, and force-fed the doctor’s orders. So I quit. My job. Bingo-bango, just like that I’m sitting around trying to do what the good doctor ordered. It is called resting, recuperating, getting mindless for a bit.

So yesterday I go back to his office for my first appointment since he suggested I commit career suicide. And yes, Debbie went with me. I don’t think she quite trusts me to be totally honest with her about what he tells me. This is very smart of her because I would lie like a rug to get my way. Any who, we walk into his office and take seats on his cushy furniture, which I have paid for several times over. He trots in a few seconds behind us (I am so not paying for those missing seconds) and his first question is, “So how is the job hunting going?”

That’s the first thing he says. Not, “how are ya feeling?” Not, “nice weather we are having, huh?” He goes straight for the juggler. Before I could respond my bride jumps in and says, “How did you know he quit?” His response? “I can tell by the way he looks.” (I felt like a lamp ... talk about it but never, never TO it.)

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE THAT?????

How transparent can I be? I have to be the King Dork of the planet if he can read me that easily! Sure he’s a doctor with cool creds all over his wall but I’m a youth pastor and that means I know how to fake people out simply to survive. I swear I could tell a kid that I stitched my dog’s head to the carpet and have him believing it. But this doctor WITH A PONY TAIL nails me in one sentence. I so hate doctors.

Basically he patted me on my little head and told me to keep doing what I’m doing and someday soon I can go out and play again. I told him that as much as I appreciate the wonder pills he gave me and they really are making me better I do tend to take rather extended naps with little notice. (The drool factor is huge.) He told me the equivalent of “tough noogies” and to keep it up for another month. Maybe if I am really good he will let me have my life back then.

So I have no reason to get up in the morning, a doctor’s permission to sleep all day, and nobody wants to stay up late and play with me at night when I’m finally all slept out. They all have places to be during the day. Well, WOO HOO for them! (You cannot find it anywhere in the bible where it says pouting is not allowed.)

Life is not fair.

To make matters worse I have developed a Milk Duds addiction. Can meth be far behind?

Come to think of it I believe that my life can be summed up in a box of Milk Duds. No, really. Hear me out. I just opened a new box and the sucker was sealed so tightly half of them flew across the room when I finally broke through. That’s like me. I’m wound pretty tightly these days. I was driving down my street this morning when a squirrel ran out in front of me. I almost drove onto some guy’s lawn trying to hit … not miss … HIT this little rat wannabe. I would have had him if the guy’s garbage can hadn’t been out. Anyway, then I get inside the box and … isn’t there supposed to be some kind of wrapper in the box? Nope. They just float around in there for months. Maybe years. They are totally free to roam around as long as they stay in the box. Me too. This tightly wound body of mine gets to sit around a lot, staring at the fire place or watching one of the 200 cable channels I pay for that broadcast absolutely nothing fit for human mental consumption. I roam around the house or even the city with no clue as to where I’m going. That way I am never late. Bouncing around. Just like the Milk Duds. And then inside the box you find all of these brown little turd like things. I swear they look exactly like what Bailey the Killer Beagle leaves in the back yard. And what do I do with them? (The Milk Duds, not the Bailey droppings.) I EAT THEM. By threes. Why threes? I have no idea. Not only am I adrenaline exhausted I’m OCD’d out the wazoo.

So there it is. My life. Reduced to Milk Duds. Why couldn’t it have been Godiva? It least there was a horse to play with. (You have no idea how hard it is to leave the Godiva analogy right there.)

Tomorrow something exciting may happen. Check back. I just have this feeling …