They say you can never go Home...

Soldiers of Sparta were allowed to return home after lost battles, only if carried dead upon their shields. I'm convinced this is a more practical and time-saving way to go about it.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Where the rubber hits the road...

This has been the start of an astoundingly bewildering week.

Wait, no. I think I need something more concrete, because that sounds too fraught with possibility.

This week is Shite.

First off, the business end is just nuts. It is tough to explain, and deadly boring to otherwise attempt, but suffice to say, I feel I am experiencing the effect of relative inexperience, which is preventing me from being able to do other people's job's for them in a pre-emptive fashion. That is to say, I don't know what all I need to be prepared for, because so much of this still seems new. While that's all great and good, decisions are made, plans carried out, and I can't think fast enough, with respect to the possible pitfalls and the things that ultimately could go wrong. And meanwhile, the people who are affected by these shortcomings bitch at me. It’s been a total nightmare.

Yesterday, I spent SIX hours at the country estate of two Bay Area lawyers, repairing or otherwise optimising a cadre of gas lights installed around the place, because the electricians did not do their jobs, and had, in their infinite experience and wisdom, decided that "there was no problem." I experienced a short-lived self-congratulatory glow having fixed the buggers on little more than the fragments of high school physics still lingering in the brain. Then I realized that I certainly don’t get paid for all this effort. But whatever! I have three more trips like that to make this week alone.

Today, my father approached the subject with The Business. Specifically, his new career forays are going very well and he wants me to take over his old business entirely. But that isn't entirely true or straightforward either. In fact, here, in bottom line fashion, are my choices (as I have translated them):

1) Get Thee to school, pursue Thine Brilliant Career in medicine/science/biotech and make a lot of money.

(This overly effusive and generous notion was put forth by Dad upon learning that a close friend of mine, having spent 2 grueling years studying as a Physician's Assistant, was making really decent money straight out of school. Dad is officially Gung Ho on Science now and after 8 years, has finally started to see the financial wisdom of having a Son involved in Biochemistry).

2) Take over The Business entirely:
a) At the end of the year, I would be all on my own.
b) The shareholders would be me, me and me.
c) It would completely be my own and could do as I pleased--isn't that great?
d) Oh, and by the way, there is the small matter of a business loan that requires paying off.
a. I'll owe Dad this money as I continue to grow (or fail) this business.
b. The magnitude of this debt will apparently remain, for the time being, as unknown as Jimmy Hoffa’s location.

I hate to say, “to toot my own horn,” because it sounds conceited. And also, “toot” reminds me of our childhood code word for the forbidden “fart” and thusly, conjures up a mental scenario of a Proud Me proclaiming publicly my own skills loudly and, having just finished, find that, while speaking, the room has filled up with an increasingly foul scent that has left the audience snickering---but regardless; I digress: To toot my own horn, I HAD imagined this latter outcome. If 26 years have taught me anything, it is to be somewhat strategic w/r/t offers extended upon familial largesse.

I think I can deal pretty efficiently with all that.

But add to that, the Relationship that I've been in the process of beginning seems to be drying up fast. I get the distinct impression that I am being shoved off, and I'm not sure why, or what I’ve done to cause the effect. I’m sure it has something to do with being nerdy and relatively uncertain and unconfident. It's incredibly uncomfortable to be on this side of the looking glass, to be sure.

And of course, there is the absence of any real social outlet outside of the confines of The Family—and I say family with all the attendant gravity of a reference to the Soprano kind.

I just checked Realtor.com today, looking at prices for homes in the area of Ventura. Homes that were $350,000 last year are now going for $680,000. That, more than anything, signified that I shall not be moving to California anytime soon. Unless, the Big One comes and a new coastline is formed.

I have this niggling feeling today--one of general toxicity. I always create a sort of meringue out of a day-to-day Life, and it collapses under the influence of too much rigorous beating.

Which brings me back to the title of this rather pathetic post. In some measure, I was looking for these things. I was looking for a little bit more autonomy with this business. And, I admit, I was looking for a bit of a blessing from the parentals, with respect to pursuing my interest in medicine. At times, I have wanted a relationship that runs seemingly on autopilot. And in some measure, now I’ve got it all. But the devil seems somewhere in the details, and now that the rubber of this car hits the road, I wonder if I wouldn’t have liked a nice pair of rollerblades instead.