Occasionally I have a dream that I still own the bar. For those of you that don't know, I owned a bar.
The dream is always the same. There's a ton of people waiting and I have to cook for them as soon as I walk in because the kitchen guy is late. I'll have to beg the bartender to stay past her shift.
Delivery drivers start coming through the back door to fill beer orders. Sales reps are waiting at the front to take orders for the weekend. The weasel bastard landlord is there to talk about the bar he opened next door.
Everyone orders at the same time. How is that even possible? And they all want something different. There's a plumbing problem (Again?) in the men's room.
Hell of a start for a Thursday, I think.
Finally, the cook shows and I pass the spatula. He's had car trouble and his phone is turned off. I like him, though, and he's a good worker. Just perpetually 20 minutes late. Works is ass off for me when he gets there, though.
I relieve the bartender set the room for the band. (Bands were there on Saturday. It must be Saturday. OK... hell of a start for a Saturday.) The bartender is supposed to do it but never does.
The waitress shows up drunk from being at the pool all day. She says she didn't want to let me down by calling in for a replacement. Now it's too late to have another waitress come in. It's OK, I say. I'll handle it.
The band calls and can't find the place. They're going to be late. The doorman is arrives. On time. Problem is that he was scheduled last night.
It's gonna be a long night...
I wake up really tense. I'm actually sweating. It feels like I didn't sleep at all. My teeth hurt from grinding them and I have acid reflux. My pulse is racing and my hernia is acting up. I think I'm developing psoriasis.
Sure do miss that place.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Addressing the Midlife Crisis
I've been thinking a lot lately about becoming a grown up and I'm not handling it well. Growing older is inevitable to be certain, but it's time for me to get a grip on things.
That thought just stuck in my head yesterday. Sounds like a quote from Whitman or Frost, doesn't it? But it's not. It's mine. I'm thinking of having some t-shirts made. Or maybe one of those posters with a cool stock photo of a kid riding a bike or blowing the stuff from a dandelion.
Not to get all philosophical or anything, but I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point in my life. But dreams of playing in the big leagues for most has to remain that... a dream. Just like Doc Graham says in 'Field of Dreams.' Incidentally, my dreams of baseball glory were dashed when my high school coach cut me because he didn't know what to do with a guy who could handle pitchers, but couldn't really see to hit and could time his 40-yard-dash with a sundial.
I know that's a longshot, but I thought I'd be in New York or Chicago or LA writing commercials and print. Who knew that I'd finish school at the exact time that package goods advertising hit the skids and print started its decline. I always had the journalism degree to fall back on, but if you get fired from the big paper's advertising department, there's not much chance of writing for the news department.
Don't get me wrong. I've got a pretty good life. The suck factor is pretty minimal. I have an amazing wife and two great kids. I have a really cool, but pain in the ass dog. I have a job... and let's just leave it at that.
Lately, though, I've been trying to figure out where my dreams now lie. You can call it a mid-life crisis, but I don't think there's a Harley in my future. I keep asking for one, but Ashley says no way. (Meanie.)
I think it's because I'm missing the innocence of youth, the power of dreams and the thought that I could just pack everything I own into one carload and see what happens next. Maybe it's time to re-read 'On the Road' and Kerouac can set me straight once again. It's also been a while since I've read 'Catcher in the Rye,' which I used to do every June.
I miss being cool. Or at least what I thought cool was. Maybe I never knew what cool was, but at least I did cool things. I performed with an improv troupe. I went white-water rafting. I wrote poetry. I traveled through Scotland and Ireland for three weeks with no plans or reservations. I hung out. I fished and hunted and drove country roads till I got lost. I watched storms. I met people. I felt like I was involved.
Will doing those things again make me happier? Probably. I think it will. Maybe not... I don't really know, but it could remind me of some dreams I once had. Or it could help me find new goals, and remind me that you can still be a cool guy, even if you're past your cool guy phase. I'd like to remind myself that you can approach life with zeal and optimism. Because that's the guy I was in my late 20s. I'd like to see that guy again. I want my boys to know that guy.
The responsibilities of adulthood are the price
we pay for the beauty and joy of being a child.
That thought just stuck in my head yesterday. Sounds like a quote from Whitman or Frost, doesn't it? But it's not. It's mine. I'm thinking of having some t-shirts made. Or maybe one of those posters with a cool stock photo of a kid riding a bike or blowing the stuff from a dandelion.
Not to get all philosophical or anything, but I'm not where I thought I'd be at this point in my life. But dreams of playing in the big leagues for most has to remain that... a dream. Just like Doc Graham says in 'Field of Dreams.' Incidentally, my dreams of baseball glory were dashed when my high school coach cut me because he didn't know what to do with a guy who could handle pitchers, but couldn't really see to hit and could time his 40-yard-dash with a sundial.
I know that's a longshot, but I thought I'd be in New York or Chicago or LA writing commercials and print. Who knew that I'd finish school at the exact time that package goods advertising hit the skids and print started its decline. I always had the journalism degree to fall back on, but if you get fired from the big paper's advertising department, there's not much chance of writing for the news department.
Don't get me wrong. I've got a pretty good life. The suck factor is pretty minimal. I have an amazing wife and two great kids. I have a really cool, but pain in the ass dog. I have a job... and let's just leave it at that.
Lately, though, I've been trying to figure out where my dreams now lie. You can call it a mid-life crisis, but I don't think there's a Harley in my future. I keep asking for one, but Ashley says no way. (Meanie.)
I think it's because I'm missing the innocence of youth, the power of dreams and the thought that I could just pack everything I own into one carload and see what happens next. Maybe it's time to re-read 'On the Road' and Kerouac can set me straight once again. It's also been a while since I've read 'Catcher in the Rye,' which I used to do every June.
I miss being cool. Or at least what I thought cool was. Maybe I never knew what cool was, but at least I did cool things. I performed with an improv troupe. I went white-water rafting. I wrote poetry. I traveled through Scotland and Ireland for three weeks with no plans or reservations. I hung out. I fished and hunted and drove country roads till I got lost. I watched storms. I met people. I felt like I was involved.
Will doing those things again make me happier? Probably. I think it will. Maybe not... I don't really know, but it could remind me of some dreams I once had. Or it could help me find new goals, and remind me that you can still be a cool guy, even if you're past your cool guy phase. I'd like to remind myself that you can approach life with zeal and optimism. Because that's the guy I was in my late 20s. I'd like to see that guy again. I want my boys to know that guy.
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