The Perfect Job
Mr. Divorce Me Not
I went to see my nurse practioner the other day. Her name is Kirsten. She's 33. I'm 36. I'm not really excited about the prospect of getting the medication that regulates and rules my life from someone I see myself buying a drink for on a Friday night, but that's ok.
She's actually a really cool person. She has two kids, and I think that she must've smoked weed some time in the past because she is worried about getting me the meds that make me "feel good" and not what will make me the most productive member of society.
Even while I had docs that were worried about making me a productive member of society, I really wasn't that productive. I was a greeter for six years. In retrospect, I loved that job, but at the time, all I could think about was the abject humiliation of a college graduate and all-around smart guy degrading himself to the position of greeter.
Now that I've moved on from that job, I'd take it in a heartbeat if they offered it. It was honest and easy. That's the kind of guy I want to be. Someone who does honest work without taxing himself too much so that he spends all his time (like I did) thinking about his job and not concerning himself with his family. There's the divorce tie-in right there.
But the funny thing is, I think my ex-wife liked me being preoccupied with work, because she was herself. She makes a bunch of money now, and gets all sorts of promotions and bonuses on a regular basis, so my child support is low, but I'd rather she put that energy into my son, who she has primary custody of.
Even better, I'd like her to work like a maniac and pay me child support to raise our son. The person I am now and see myself becoming would do a good job.
