That's It, Folks. I've Had Enough...
Of working for a temporary employment agency, that is!
HA! Working on my header draw-ins... Hope a few of you were concerned, or happy-- your perception of "gone" the pendulum. :D
Seriously, though-- I can't believe it's been THREE MONTHS since I started @ 'The Factory'.
but it has, saith the calendar gods (Chronos? Works for me...).
Today (well, officially yesterday-- doncha LOVE electronic aging?) I am officially a REAL boner-fide American statistic: Permanently Employed.
Six months down the road I can begin a a 401K/retirement fund.
In a year, Medical and Dental benefits. In two-- fully invested in profit-sharing.
Um.. well.. Well, yes. BUT... (ah, ALWAYS one o' them, ain't there? OK so not in Cygnus' personal life of late, mais that's a different blog...)
But those of you who've been here w/ My Song for a minute know the kicker:
I hope to never have to advantage the majority of these perks.
Oh, I'll probably join the 401K, especially if the co. matches dollar-for... And the dental and med will be okay (I never need either, but then the Spring is Sprunging, slowly but surely, from this chicke-- er, Bird), but... (wow, ANOTHER ONE! Only in writ, alas. Been so long since Cyg's seen the swan equiv of a goose that last time he stepped outside and the wind blew he got excited...)
But, folks, in 18 months I wanna be doing this:
in the Ozark hills.
I want to have more of THESE
and some o' THEMscattered not on a Bermuda-grass coffin-sized plunk, but on acres in them thar hills...
I want not to sling sheets of metal on and off carts all day, but to pitch hay into a dairy/meat goat pen.
I want to have an apiary (bee boxes), a rabbit hutch, a small water-worthy vessel to chase bream from. A screened-in porch whence guitar, mandolin, and bodhran are explored nightly.
FOUR SEASONS, I want.
I'm VERY FORTUNATE to have the employment security I do, given today's repressive economy. I understand that.
I also understand that IT IS NOT MY CALLING, the "punching in and punching out and sucking up to Bob..." way.
A local Farmer's market, where I can barter or trade (okay, i'll accept green paper. for now.) what I don't eat.
A pressure canner to dole away the remainder.
A wood-burning stove, and endless winter hours to ply my keyboard-smitten digits whilst, outside the window,
"the only other sound's the sweep
of frosty wind and downy flake..."
THAT'S what I want.
So, I AM greatful for the gift of today. And at the same time, hope that I can leave, when the time comes, on good terms with the Factory. Because what if no one ever buys (or, Heavens forbid no one PUBLISHES!) all these mental images I'm gonna keypad over those winters?
**dejectedly hangs head**
I'll be able to sloth back to the grind...
And begin anew...
Slainte, Blessed Folk!
Le Moniteur de la Mode, January 1853
3 hours ago