Summer Declaration

Can any of you pick up these helpdesk hours on the 4th?

It's my boss. Her meaning is clear, you're clever. You get the gist. Helpdesk work is easy work. Remember when you were a teenager? Remember baby-sitting the neighbor's kids while the neighbors went out drinking champagne and bunny-hopping till the good ball dropped? That's what I do (Not the bunnying, the babying). Helpdesk work is watching 120 whiney ex DJs try to master the computer for something more than porn. It's not pretty--the work, I don't know about the porn. Remember the crazed monkeys of Space Odyssey? Take a picture. That would be my office, if we had one; if we didn't work home alone. For the record, I'm the monkey on the left, screeching and wielding a femur.

Anyway, it's a holiday. I work holidays. Without thinking I clicked reply, then I thought, What hours am I already scheduled for? Important question. I look stupid if I reply that I can work hours that I was previously scheduled to work. I don't want to look stupid. I'm already on the company terrorist watch list, and runs with scissors list, I should probably avoid the corporate Erkle list too. It's a trifecta I can't afford right now.

So I go into the corporate site, mouse rub pages and click links. One link, two link, red link, blue link…"Employee," "Benefits," "Schedule." Bullseye.

The fourth is…Friday. My day off is…Friday.

What?

I check again: both answers are correct. How the hell..? I don't think in all the time I've worked there, I've been off on a national holiday other than Thanksgiving. I didn't ask for it, what happened? Well if I'm not already working, I’m not asking for extra hours!

So now that I'm off the 4th, my next question is: "so what?" I mean, it's a family holiday. It's the day you take the kids to devour watermelon and ogle fireworks. Rind-goo faces and ringing ears, that's what makes America great. Later, when you're tired, you can stick the kids to a wall, like Velcro. What's more, your ears are too shot to hear any complaints. Now that, my friend, is a holiday!

I don't really have a 4th family. It's me and Cosmo. Cosmo is ok with Watermelon, but he'd rather have steak. And fireworks? Cosmo hates fireworks. He charges the back door every time after every bang. He's more scared on the fourth than when I took him to see Blair Witch.

"I don't know why they don't pee trail-markings on the trees, boy, just watch the movie."

Every timer there are fireworks, Cosmo trembles on my lap while I watch TV. That's not a holiday, that's a Friday night. I need something more. Still, I don't have it. I'm not really bitching. Ok maybe I am, but it's not a heartfelt harrumph bitch, it's more of a sub speech mutter bitch.

I mean I'll do my usual coffee shop write fest Friday, so long as their employees don't honor the holiday. Still, It's a holiday. I should do something special, but I don't have anything special to do.

I can't just kidnap the neighbors kids and go do family stuff. My city frowns on that.

"I said play with the piñata, Timmy! Now damnit! There's no crying! It's the freakin' fourth! Get happy!"

I wish it worked that way. The get happy, not the kidnapping.

"Get happy!"

"Ok, I am."

Now see? That would be reason to celebrate. Still, despite being all dressed down with nowhere to go, I am happy. This 4th I'm celebrating freedom. Not necessarily from MyUnwife, but from my divorce. From all the things that made my 39th year a miserable year.

I hold this truth to be self evident. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, I pledge my Life, my Fortunes, and my sacred Honor.

I'm gonna make this a good 4th.