Juney 24: Flat-Tire Question, Old Childs, Magic 8-Ball Monday

Every time I sit down to type my Monday morning posts, I have tons of questions in my head that I want answered.  They're all about the future--my jobs, my writing, my wife, my kids, my finances.  The normal obsessions.  (Well, perhaps not every person in the world worries about poetry or full-time, tenure-track university professorships.)  Then, when I actually start typing my post, those questions seem to evaporate into a cloud of superficiality.  I mean, in the grand scheme of things, my problems are pretty damn trivial, and, somehow, my unconscious mind knows this and robs me of my ability to be self-absorbed.  Which leaves me with nothing to write about.

I still have all my fears and worries.  I just feel a little silly writing about them.  I mean, who really wants to hear about whether I can make my car payment or not?  Or whether I won or lost a chapbook contest I entered?  Compared to tornadoes and car bombings, those things are pretty minor.  A lot of people would look at my life and say, "What the hell are you complaining about?"  And they would be absolutely right.

If I had a stronger faith in God, my days would be much more peaceful.  Every time I leave work, as I'm walking toward my car, I start worrying about having a flat tire.  In 13 years of working at this medical office, I've had exactly two flat tires, both during the summer, both when I've had nowhere special to be in the evening.  Yet, I worry about flat tires.  I can't help myself.  All my worries are really flat-tire worries.

And I'm going to ask a flat-tire question on this Magic 8-Ball Monday.  I do this because I'm human and imperfect and really, really petty.  Here goes:

Am I a good person?

And the answer from Holden Caulfield and J. D. Salinger and the universe is:

...Old Childs was a Quaker and all, and he read the Bible all the time.  He was a very nice kid, and I liked him, but I could never see eye to eye with him on a lot of stuff in the Bible, especially the Disciples...

Hmmm.  A very nice kid.  I can live with that, I guess.

There's worse things Saint Marty could be called.

If only all worries were this easy...