Listen to this discussion free on YouTube: Timeshifts and Mindwarps discussion
Outside on the back porch my son’s cell phone is sounding the alarm. A hypnotic melody that seems more soothing than awakening. He’s lost his phone. I woke him from his accidental slumber in the rocking chair. He stumbled in the house and I assume to his bed. I’m happy he sleeps. No longer monitoring his behavior. Releasing him to the flow of his own demons and unhealthy habits. Anything a dad would say, will for action plans to do the opposite. Why ask about job applications? Check in on the progress of his sidejob, the one he claims he’s behind on. Yet, he’s never working on it.
He’s fondling weapons. He’s larping around in military gear looking like an ICE agent from upper-class urbanity. Clothes from REI. Face covering from Iran. Weapons from America. He’s not a white entitled brat. No. He’s a misguided teenager at 25. Still working through his fantasies and obsessions. I liked when it was guitars and music gear. I can’t join in the gun thing. At some point one of them is going to go off. I hope he’s prepared for the outcome.
I am not prepared for his death. I’m powerless to affect a change in his behavior. By keeping him close, allowing him to live in my house, at least I have perspective. An ability to talk sense into his troubled mind. Anxiety, depression, and PTSD are convenient tags. His mom is fond of labeling. I’m calling bullshit. He’s misbehaving because he can.
The escape for him is an apartment of his own, where he can fondle AKs until his heart explodes. I’m more afraid of his utter collapse in a place of his own. The last experiment at college was a disaster. The rescue turned into an insurrection. His return to my house, a year ago, was unexpected and unpleasant. His lies were already overwhelming his ability to keep the story straight. He said he withdrew from college. He did not. He received two Fs. Two classes to graduate. Two fucking classes, no job. What’s the fucking problem?
Oh, it’s him.
A father figure of my own said to me, “It’s not your fault. You’re a great dad. You’re giving him everything you can.”
It. Is. Not. My. Fault.
That my son is fucking up. That my job is a dead end. That my job hunt is taking longer than it should. That AI isn’t helping me. It’s okay. I am helping myself. AI is part of the team. Part of this tapestry of words and ideas spewing forth at random times. Intentional mind warping. Timeshifting and accepting my upcoming 8.5 hour shift. I can’t time shift past it. I have to go through it.
I use mind-warping mindfulness and directed attention to pass the time. Conversations with the youngish staff also provides enjoyment. The customers are beautiful and often wealthy and entitled. You can see the frustration at even having to be at the grocery store. Today, I start at 11 am, it’s Sunday. By 1 pm the church crowd will be en masse. I’d like to tell you they are lovely Christians. Some are. Most are pleasant. A few are not very Jesus-like.
I mean, that’s the goal of church, right? To be more Jesus-like in our behaviors and thoughts toward others. The golden rule and all that? Then why all the right-wing bullshit? Why the suppression of other ideas? What’s Jesus say about that? Love your neighbor. Right? Not if they are Palestinian, Mexican, Canadian. WTF? I guess Jesus can be a cover for racism, too. Huh.
Well the church of the beautiful people today will be where I hold court at my checkout lane. “Hi, how is your afternoon going?” Or “How was church today?” It depends on the vibe I get. They don’t need to know or sense that I’m a doubter. Wait, I mean a seeker. I do believe in God, with a big G. I also believe in native american worship, Sufi principles and poetry, and love everyone as family. We are all one. Somehow, my most Jesus-first friends disagree with that statement. I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I want to love and live as best I can.
Today that will be at the checkout stand of a fancy grocery store owned by a rocketship billionaire pushing organic salves and tomatoes for your soul. I can’t shop here much. Even with the 20% employee discount, I’m done at the end of my shift. Too tired to shop or talk. I want to recline and check in with my two copilots, Sid and Hunter, the one-year-old cats.
I want to be undisturbed.
To be fair I get fairly good healthcare in addition to my sixteen-dollar-an-hour pay. I can’t make my mortgage payment with a 40-hour-a-week job, but hey, I have a house. Most of my coworkers will be in apartments for the foreseeable future. And maybe that’s why the Team Lead hates me. I am upwardly mobile. He’s at the peak of his earning capacity and failing as a manager. He’s a bit of an inside joke. His loop earring expanders, bad tattoos and gapped teeth. He’s the king of our little customer service and e-commerce group. Woowee! He’s holding me down. In the first weeks, he was lifting me up and tempting me with advancement. No such talk in the last five months.
I need to get my mindset right before I go in today. This helps. Writing. My path out. Putting in some job applications. It is Sunday, so I’ll give that a pass until my shift is over at 7:30 tonight.
I’m passing on a lot of things I’d like to do and be right now. I’m narrowing my focus. Carving out distractions. My son. Hmm. He’s okay for now. Perhaps his presence at least keeps me from worrying about how badly he is acting out. I’m seeing it. I’m pushing back against his total takeover of my house. Keeping him constrained to three rooms only. He’s taken my music room again. That’s the part I’m ready to get back.
It is unimportant until a new job is found. The grind of this job is keeping me tired. I am not hopeless. Far from it. I am grinding onward and upward. Even if the second job passes, I’ve got ten more strong applications behind it. I have one other rock to overturn, but I’m giving him, them, some time to get the application in order so I can help their onboarding and retention. I’ve got a certificate in Customer Success Management. That’s getting people subscribed to your SaaS platform, then managing to keep them happy. I’m ready for that gig. I’ll need Obamacare for that one, though. And that, ACA, is about to get unaffordable.
Okey doeky. Time to prep for work. I need to leave in ten minutes. See ya later.
