My Wife is Married to Eeyore: a Confession

Ever seen the movie Walk the Line, the biopic about Johnny Cash and his rise from Arkansas Farm-boy to music legend? Remember the series of scenes with Johnny as an appliance salesman going door-to-door? Now, remember how everybody kept slamming their door in Johnny's face? Remember all of that? Johnny was on the cusp of breaking through as a musician, looking for that one break that would hurtle him star-wards, only selling appliances because he had to in order to make ends meet. Johnny was a failure of a salesman, knowing deep down that he was destined for something more.

Now, pretend Johnny was a car salesman.

Now, pretend it's me instead of Johnny.

This is my life right now.

I'm the airplane in the holding pattern, waiting for the storm to clear so it can land; I'm the dolphin waiting on the trainer's whistle, so I can leap out of the water, hit the dangly ball and go get my fresh cuttle fish; I'm the squirrel waiting breathlessly for the mother of all acorns to fall to the ground under the oak tree. In other words, It's a waiting game for me. And it sucks. I couldn't sell a winter coat and thermal underwear to a naked mountain climber at 15,000 feet. He'd convince me he's "just looking," or he'll "come back later." So sales obviously isn't my forte. I could have guessed it wouldn't be from the outset, but I thought I could make enough money to get by and pay my bills. Apparently not. So I'm in the hunt for something else, perhaps a factory job where I can go work my shift, collect my paycheck, and come home. Is that too much to ask? I don't want to make a million bucks (though I wouldn't turn it down). I don't want to be rich, just able to pay my bills. I don't even know what to pray for anymore. I try, but my mind goes ape and I can't seem to focus on any one of the million things I'd like to say to God. So most of my attempts dissolve into incoherent mind-babble and half-hearted, half-finished utterances for some general help from God.

(Heavy sigh of exhausted resignation.)

My spiritual life (whatever that means) is in great shape (read that again and lace it with bitter sarcasm). I've only blamed God, like, 10 million times, which probably has a direct impact on the fiasco that is my prayer life. I've thought about calling Oprah for help...

Just kidding.

What I wish I were kidding about is how this is affecting my family. I come home after a 12-hour shift, overflowing with failure, and suck all the joy out of the room, like giant emotional Electrolux. I ruined my anniversary, a very tactful move on my part, because I couldn't stop being Eeyore. It's affecting my wife, who generally is a bright, positive, cheerful person, a joy to be around and simply a blessing to be hitched to in marriage. I feel bad about this. I don't want to be Eeyore, emo, or emotionally jacked-up. I can't seem to get past my circumstances. It's round two of a twelve-round bout and I'm already bleeding badly (cut me, Mick, cut me!) from being unable to dodge life's blows. Depressed yet? Well that's not my intent. I realized that I've been a mess for awhile and it isn't getting better. Seems like every time I fix one part of my life another part falls off and I'm scrambling for the duct tape, superglue and Bond-o. (Uplifting moment coming...sort of.) I'll survive. I know it. I always do. I'm not dead yet. Somehow, someway, all of me will pull through. I hope I don't burn my family out in the process. I hope God does whatever he is going to do with soon.

I hope I get my big break with Sun Records and Sam Phillips tomorrow.

shalom, matt