(Attention: If this is the first post of mine you’ve ever read you might think I’m one of those bitter parents who doesn’t seem to like their kids very much. You might even be inspired to say nasty and judgmental things in the comments. Dude. Get a grip. The rest of my writing isn’t like this. Well, not usually. But everyone snaps at some point. This week? I’ve snapped.)
You know what the best part of having jobs always was for me? Quitting them. Sure, I had a couple jobs I actually liked, the best being an indie video store, but I had plenty of really crappy ones. Glory was found in quitting.
One of my first jobs as a teenager was so horrible and demeaning that I pissed on the uniform* and then returned it in a grocery bag. When I handed the bag over I said, “This job sucks. I quit.”
It was that bad.
So now I’m a parent. People have long compared parenting to having a job. You hear quotes all the time like “the hardest job you’ll ever love” and stuff like that.
Well you know what? Parenting isn’t just hard.
This job sucks. I quit.
Ahhh, there’s the rub. You can’t quit. Ever.
Oh but I daydream about it sometimes. Don’t you?
When I’m at the bottom of the pit of despair (otherwise known as circling the drain) I daydream about quitting. I envision myself walking out the front door, down the front steps and onto the street. From there I hitchhike and somehow wind up backpacking across Spain. There are wildflowers and country villas and all kinds of lovely things. Complete freedom. Alone.