Con-rage-ulations

            Last night the Chicago Blackhawks won the 2013 Stanley Cup in spectacular fashion. Two amazing come from behind goals in the waning 17 seconds of a hard fought game pushed the Blackhawks to their second Stanley Cup in four years. The city of Chicago erupted with joy and revelers spilled out onto nearly every street. Fireworks exploded and car horns blared up and down the numerous city blocks. The parties raged on for hours and into the wee morning. It must have been something.

            I really don’t know though because I denied myself the joys of participating in the excitement by staying home and watching the game on my TV in my living room. I chose being a responsible adult over being a championship crazy partier. I hate that I even had to make that choice. I really, really hate it.

            I know that if I had gone out and bathed in the reflected glory of a championship team, a team that plays with all it’s heart and epitomizes the never quit spirit of Chicago, I would likely have had too much to drink. Probably a few too many shots of whiskey as well and today would have been miserable. If I was even able to wake up on time to get to work. I hate work, but I hate missing it more; especially when I call in with a case of the brown bottle flu. I feel like a loser then.

            I get judged by family and friends when I call into work. I get the, “tsk, tsk, tsk’s” and the wagging of an index finger in my face. Along with the, “You’re going to get fired if you keep that up”, lecture I’ve heard an honest billion times. I hate that lecture and that judgment. It makes me very angry to be told, again and again, about how I screwed up. I need my job, I’m fully aware of it. I can’t afford to be without it. I totally understand that. I don’t need to be told over and over by people about it. It makes me really unhappy with my life that people feel the need to remind me.

            So, out of fear more than responsibility, I stayed in last night and went to bed a little after 11:00 pm. I could still hear the revelers along busy Irving Park road whooping it up. I was drifting off to dreamland with a simmering anger in my chest that I was in bed. It was as if I was grounded for something stupid like forgetting to hand in a spelling assignment in grammar school and my punishment was not being allowed to attend the big game. I was missing out on something pretty cool, all because I had to be awake and ready for a job and a career I despise. The failure of logic burned inside of me and made its way into my dreams. Angry and sad dreams.

            I don’t often get to do the things that bring me happiness because of my fear of losing my job. If I actually did the things that made me happy, that honestly made me feel awesome about me, I’d have lost my job years ago. I’d probably be living in a cardboard box on the sidewalk and peeing in jars and on anything else really. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be happy about that either though.

            The real problem is two-fold, going out last night would have had problems with this morning and I’d hate that. Staying in last night was boring and aggravating, but I’m on time and awake for the job I hate. I’m not sure how to find a happy medium. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m getting too old for the adversity of pursuing one’s dreams entails, plus I’m not even sure what those pursuits would involve since I still have no idea what it is I want to do with my life.

            It’s too bad that there aren’t motivating coaches in life like there are in hockey; a gray-hair, mustache sporting, confident coach pointing out the directions and explaining the strategies for success in life. Then again, I’m so anti-authority I’d probably quit just because he tried to tell me what to do.

            Either way, I’m a proud Chicagoan and proud of my team for bringing home Lord Stanley’s Cup. Now to get my own Lord Michael’s Cup of shitty office coffee.