Home back then, empty.
I still have that love of work
feeling, but it is not related to business ownership or my 9 to 5, which isn’t
really a 9 to 5, but an all over the clock schedule of mundane, (unimportant to
anyone but stockholders) tasks. My day job requires a physical prowess which is
getting harder and harder to provide. I am pushed to the edge each day and just
when I can’t take any more, my 8 hours is up and I go home.
Home isn’t empty
anymore.
Many things wait for me there: among them are two
passions, two loves, one obsession. Sorry honey, I do love you but as you
already know you’re not my obsession, writing is.
Writing is my plate, my path, my vessel
full of that which I cannot live without. It is my feast, my famine, my steady
rock, my teetering tower. I am full when I write and I starve. My thirst for
just the right word and phrase and paragraph is like my drive to work so long
ago, my key in the lock of the door to open, to make, to create, to succeed. I
love what I do. I mean really, I love what I do, here, in this place when I
write. And to get paid to do this, even
the miniscule amount I do, is riches beyond belief.
Yup, over the course of my lifetime
I have owned not only three businesses but four, two retail, one manufacturing
and one word-mongering. I love being in
the position of where the words start, stop, are made or caught and released. I
am in control. (Or does it control me?)
Does word-mongering control you?
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