Tucson for logistical reasons and then an unexpected extra night in Phoenix.

On the drive down I wasn’t driving but I talked and talked the truth. It started in a loud stupid argument, and I actually even got mad for a change, but it marinated into monologue down through the curves at bumblebee where the wrecks happen.

The essence of it was that I’m brutally tired of caring about anyone else’s expectations, and because the major source of OtherPeople’s Expectations is at a job, where they pay you to live up, I don’t know if I can work anymore. I’m sure it won’t qualify as a disability, but it feels like one.

All my life I’ve been very good at living up, to the letter of a job description. Even beyond showing up on time and crossing the T’s, I don’t call in sick. I overperform just a little … but I also pointedly ignore the kind of duty that isn’t laid down in print. My attitude is one of meeting and slightly exceeding the formal expectation, and refusing to go much beyond that, and drawing that line with a marked attitude.

This wary detente’ worked well for a long time. But something’s changed in the world. Or in me, possibly, but I don’t believe it much. I knew in 2004 that it was coming hard and fast, and I ran out to the furthest sticks to delay it. But modern shittiness caught up to me, and when it died in the little town, when the traffic cameras went up even here, searching for the same congeniality out in the fields was a longshot that failed, as lotteries will.

I have no desire to wear the yoke of some boss even once again.

That said, I might. Once again. For two years. It makes money sense, and no heart sense whatsoever.

Finding a way around that conundrum is the real job.