and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I got fired and burnt for writing something on the internet.

Nothing illegal or misleading or overly offensive, mind you. (okay, maybe a little offensive) But regardless, I got the boot. The thing about the boot is that it was the perfect catalyst for me at the time - opening my eyes up and seeing what a miserable place I was in. A catalyst for me to get out of the place I was in.

I finished the summer painting my friend's parent's house that sat on the banks of the Kennebec river. Making my own hours. Paid under the table. Working outdoors. Alone. High up on a 40 foot ladder in the August heat sweating bullets with paint flecks all over me and a bad ass tan to boot.

That's the thing about some jobs - there isn't any confusion as to how much or little work to do. You got yourself a house. Paint it. No one was ever there during the day and I'd drive up in my truck and park under the pine trees and stroll up the driveway. I'd look at the ancient dog in lying on the cold cement in the garage and, sometimes, he'd look up at me. We'd talk.

"Trim today, old buddy? Or maybe I should finish scraping on the back side?"

The house was had an open wood theme with big wide wooden slates that needed copious amounts of varnish/weather proofing and the trim was a combination of light robins-egg blue and a peachy-pink. I'd mix up the paint and pour it into a can - folgers or half & half - and I'd make my way up the ladder; always precariously settled against the side of the house.

I'd scrape for maybe an hour, or paint for an hour and a half. At some point I'd stop and get some water, sitting in the cool air of the kitchen, and maybe watch five or ten minutes of tv. But it wasn't like a desk job with multiple projects going at once. I wasn't a salesman working a gazillion prospects. There was never any question what to do. I was there to paint a house.

Sometimes I'd get a friend down to help me move the scaffolding around. Sometimes someone would stop by and stand in the driveway, craning their neck upwards and sheilding their eyes from the sun, talking or listening to my chatter. It was good to talk to someone besides the dog - frankly he wasn't a very good listener. But I wouldn't necessarily stop what I was doing. I wouldn't wander off to get a cup of coffee and wax philosophical about market share and product direction. There was never much confusion. There was a house. I was painting it.

Every job has it's virtues - every job - and it's those virtues that make it worthwhile. If you don't see the virtue than you probably aren't looking. Maybe it's the free time to blog. Maybe it's the free coffee. Maybe it's the I'm-my-own-boss aspect. Maybe it's the cash.

And sometimes.. well.. sometimes the virtues just don't add up.

I watched part of a movie last night. I don't know what it's called but it was a bit of a mob flick. This big mob boss tells a young kid how he could tell if a girl was "one of the greats":

"Use the door test," the boss said.

"The door test?"

"Yeah, the door test.. First date, you take her out. You go to her house and pick her up in your car. When you get there, make sure to lock both doors. Bring her up to the car and use the key to unlock her side and let her in.. Then walk around the back end of the car. Pause at the back and look through the rear window. If she reaches across and unlocks your side for you, she's a keeper. If she doesn't, she's too self-absorbed and you need to dump her right away.. if she doesn't unlock your side you're just seeing the tip of the iceberg and you need to get rid of her ASAP."

It's a shame we all have automatic door locks now because it strikes me as a pretty good point.. hollywood mush-mash or not. But as with girls - as with jobs. A good job is like a good woman, and you can test a job too.

I test my job every day when I write here in this blog. I test my job every day when I miss company meetings and come in late. But it tests me with deadlines and quality control.. so it's all good.

We have a give and take relationship.

But this blog.. this is a job sometimes, too.. and I give and I give and I give.. and it takes and takes and takes and sometimes.. sometimes it just doesn't give back. Sometimes it beats me down and takes advantage of me. Punishes me for being so honest and up front with it. Takes me to the cleaners and washes me out.

But some jobs, as with women, are just labours of love. Sometimes it beats you down but you keep coming back because it's not about the reciprocation but the pure unadultered commitment.

And so.. two weeks ago on this day the birthday of this blog was celebrated. One full year and two weeks ago to the day I sat here, in this very same spot, and hammered out the very first post:

Well, welcome to a new day.
Thus begins the reign of terror.
Great. Wonderful.

And to you, my readers, my employers, of sorts (for if not for you this would not still be here in it's present incarnation) - thank you very much, thanks for stopping by, thank you for suffering my horrendous spelling and over-use of the ellipsis... the hypen - and the comma, which I know I overuse like crazy, no, really - I do...

Thank you for stopping by once, or twice, or every day, or once in awhile. In celebration I ask but one simple request. I'm not a comment monger, but why not - for just one time - leave a note and just say hi. Anonymous or not. Just for fun. It's not like I'm leaving or anything. You don't have to give me a gold watch. Just say hi to the blog.

Hi Erp.

Oh, and despite all the perhaps offensive and rude and obnoxious things I've managed to pack into a years worth of posts, thank you for not firing me,...- yet.