Oh there are no real demons that abide in the
rafters plotting our demise.
Not even residing within the eves of mindful doubts or fearful
uncertainties. It does not approach as a red-eyed beast of glistening wet
leathery skin; accented with bulbous oozing warts. It would be an
advantage to see such a vile creature that possessed dangling sinewy arms
ending with flesh rending razors claws. Yet what draws us off the path of our
dreams and aspirations are sublime, and can appear as apparently harmless
golden fragrant flowers near our trail of sojourning. Sunny glades with
the music of distant trickling brooks that gently whispers to consider
lingering, to rest, and wait for the arrival of another time ~ questioning the
reason of such headlong determination? Soft suggestions instead of,' why
change a thing?' Unaware that tarry is the drug, as procrastination a
cancer that erodes enthusiasm ultimately to the point of an addiction to
resistance; accustomed to delay.
My fellow cube mate was promoted, so our entire branch assembled outside in the gazebo to witness the ceremony and demonstrate our support and solidarity. At the end of the proceedings, behind the rows of seated guest, was a table spread with a banquet of refreshments. I stood in line next to the head of my division, and talked of a fellow officer who, like me, was on extended active duty. I mentioned that had confused the people at the military personnel office while preparing for retirement. They were unsure if they should deal with me as a reservist or active duty soldier. The Colonel responded with,
"Oh no, you're active duty"
and we laughed at the irony of a reoccurring issue of discerning activated reservist serving alongside the regular Army, as if there were some reason to know the difference. He mentioned something unexpected.
"I can remobilize you if you want"
I stared at him without expression, not comprehending his meaning.
"I can arrange to bring you back on, with stop loss, and keep you on" he added.
My fellow cube mate was promoted, so our entire branch assembled outside in the gazebo to witness the ceremony and demonstrate our support and solidarity. At the end of the proceedings, behind the rows of seated guest, was a table spread with a banquet of refreshments. I stood in line next to the head of my division, and talked of a fellow officer who, like me, was on extended active duty. I mentioned that had confused the people at the military personnel office while preparing for retirement. They were unsure if they should deal with me as a reservist or active duty soldier. The Colonel responded with,
"Oh no, you're active duty"
and we laughed at the irony of a reoccurring issue of discerning activated reservist serving alongside the regular Army, as if there were some reason to know the difference. He mentioned something unexpected.
"I can remobilize you if you want"
I stared at him without expression, not comprehending his meaning.
"I can arrange to bring you back on, with stop loss, and keep you on" he added.
"Oh really" I
said, the uncertainty must have been evident in my voice, "Geeh the
seduction of the money"
He smiled and replied, "Well think about it"
Ah, the aroma of opportunity’s bouquet~
Yes, the lure of another year of income began to seep into my planning consideration; thoughts of land in the mountains, a cabin nestled by a stream. The things I could do with another year of income. I dismissed it, knowing I've delayed my aspirations long enough. But the seed had sprouted and remained in fertile soil of comfortable. The idea rolled in my mind like a roulette wheels spin languidly slows, waiting for the inertia to dissolve as gravity appoints the numbered quadrant where the ball would shutter nosily to its rest.
I sat next to our computer information manager. She has a son who is a drummer, so often times we discuss the music business. I mentioned to her what our division chief had told me. We then engaged in a lengthy discussion about what effect that would have on my desire to go back into music. I mentioned that decades ago a girlfriend of my music partner had told me she didn't think musicians were all that committed. That if they were really dedicated to their art they'd get jobs and save money to go into studios to record and not sit around on dilapidated couches in austere surroundings, griping about how the world was taking its own damn sweet time coming to discover them.
My friend smiled in my telling that tale, her reply ironically framed the sequence of events in such a way I could not ignore the quiz I had been given. She said,
"Yeah, but you get a regular job and soon the bills start taking your attention and before you know it you've forgotten your dream."
I was reminded of a trip back to my hometown back in 95 when I looked up my old music partner. We had parted ways a decade past and I wanted to see how he had faired. I had joined the Army and that had become my life, but what of him? He was free to continue to follow his musical dreams, how did he do?
I found him as a head cook in a local restaurant. He was living with a woman who worked at the same place and together they were raising her children from a couple of previous marriages. He had stopped playing years ago; he had taken drugs one night before playing with a band he had joined, seems the results were that the next morning he couldn't remember any lyrics or cord patterns from any of the songs he had learned. Worst of it was he couldn’t recall any that he had written either.
He smiled and replied, "Well think about it"
Ah, the aroma of opportunity’s bouquet~
Yes, the lure of another year of income began to seep into my planning consideration; thoughts of land in the mountains, a cabin nestled by a stream. The things I could do with another year of income. I dismissed it, knowing I've delayed my aspirations long enough. But the seed had sprouted and remained in fertile soil of comfortable. The idea rolled in my mind like a roulette wheels spin languidly slows, waiting for the inertia to dissolve as gravity appoints the numbered quadrant where the ball would shutter nosily to its rest.
I sat next to our computer information manager. She has a son who is a drummer, so often times we discuss the music business. I mentioned to her what our division chief had told me. We then engaged in a lengthy discussion about what effect that would have on my desire to go back into music. I mentioned that decades ago a girlfriend of my music partner had told me she didn't think musicians were all that committed. That if they were really dedicated to their art they'd get jobs and save money to go into studios to record and not sit around on dilapidated couches in austere surroundings, griping about how the world was taking its own damn sweet time coming to discover them.
My friend smiled in my telling that tale, her reply ironically framed the sequence of events in such a way I could not ignore the quiz I had been given. She said,
"Yeah, but you get a regular job and soon the bills start taking your attention and before you know it you've forgotten your dream."
I was reminded of a trip back to my hometown back in 95 when I looked up my old music partner. We had parted ways a decade past and I wanted to see how he had faired. I had joined the Army and that had become my life, but what of him? He was free to continue to follow his musical dreams, how did he do?
I found him as a head cook in a local restaurant. He was living with a woman who worked at the same place and together they were raising her children from a couple of previous marriages. He had stopped playing years ago; he had taken drugs one night before playing with a band he had joined, seems the results were that the next morning he couldn't remember any lyrics or cord patterns from any of the songs he had learned. Worst of it was he couldn’t recall any that he had written either.
I walked in the brisk October breeze pondering such things as I made my way back to the basement where I worked. I recognized the connecting threads of these memories and thoughts as they gathered to weave into my personal resolve. Yes, there are always reasons for the sidetracking. Some are reasonable and pragmatic. Some are harsh and unexpected. For me, I saw the seduction as sure as if it were an embodied winged hulk of a creature. Hissing and leering as it chortles 'come hither' motioning with its dangerous long gnarly finger to follow. Was not too long ago, it was the form of a maiden possessing a girlish lithe in her laughter; charming with a persuasive coquettish bounce to her well manicured hair, gaily leading me away from my hearts true desire.
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