I’m at an airport crying. That seems to be a recurring theme on these diary Tumblr posts… tears.
Let me give you the situation surrounding my mind frame, maybe then crying will be permissible, excusable.
I’m headed to NYC for the weekend to do video stuff. They have informed me they are having a tough time coming up with ideas of things for me to cover/film… I sent them 10+ ideas, they were all rejected. I left my normal job (that I loathe) early at 3pm to get to the airport. On the way, I got an email saying that because they were having a tough time coming up with content for me to create this month that they would be cutting our contract short by one month. This means that my September trip, the sixth month of my six-month contract, will be no more. That money I counted on? No more. That creative outlet I so desperately need? Not happening.
It’s easy to immediately launch into “What did I do wrong?” scenarios… Was I not funny enough? Did my videos not get the right amount of views? Was it that confusion over expense reimbursement?… I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been in an airport for 4 hours contemplating life. Flight was supposed to be at 5pm, but it was delayed 40 minutes because of “congestion at LaGuardia” then delayed another 30 minutes then after that it was discovered the plane needed maintenance. An hour they said… then another hour… then finally, definitely it would be ready at 9:30. I live in this fucking city. I could have been at home if they gave me a straight answer at 5pm.
I could have not left work early. I could have gone home to my fucking wife and daughter and spent time that I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET BACK. My daughter called me and said “are you on an airplane daddy?” No sweetie, daddy is not. “I come pick you up.” I don’t know how to handle these emotions. Here I am sacrificing what means more than anything to me and it doesn’t matter. Not to my job. Not to Complex. Not to Delta. It’s all for fucking naught.
At the beginning of this journey I thought “Aww man, this will be dope. I’ll do these, they’ll like the videos enough and something better will come along. I’ll be able to quit this fuccboi job and do something that reinvigorates my soul, something I love doing.” Nope.
That is not happening.
Sorry to disappoint you.
You never plan on a Plan C.
Here I was suffering through the day job that gives my family security and some of the best insurance ever to eke out a small amount of freedom to write dumb Internet stuff, the illusion of a Plan B. The realization that doing Internet videos and writing and being given part-time/full-time money for it is no longer a possibility at this moment.
I look back at the previous 4 months… was it worth it? I don’t know. I was told by a constituent my show host replacement… and I can’t even be mad. It’s a high profile person, and I knew that would happen when I saw how much potential it had. I just wish They had been more forthcoming with me.
I met wonderful people, but I was away from my wife and daughter. In 10 years the nice Internet people that follow me and favorite my inane ramblings won’t be there to help me explain to my daughter why she shouldn’t have sex, or why she shouldn’t wear that top, or why boys are disgusting… It will be me. And who knows? If I was in her life for four more weekends maybe I’d have the rapport to make it stick. Maybe she wouldn’t have those toddler memories of me not being there and she’d love me a little bit more.
My escape has been shut down. My hope has been extinguished. I know this isn’t the end of the road, but it sure is gonna suck to have to turn around and drive 100 miles back to where I was to start on the next journey…
You never plan on a Plan C… but scrambling back to the drawing board is sometimes necessary, even if you really really really don’t want to.
Spite is a powerful motivator.