Round One

My desk is neither cluttered nor well organized. Darth Vader's bobbling head nods in approval when I provide a satisfactory response to a client (only when I request his opinion by flicking his giant plastic helmet). My daughters eyes smile at me as they peer over the glass that no longer fits properly in the motorcycle frame my mother-in-law purchased. Photos of my guitars taunt me from behind my monitor. They remind me of what I could be doing with my time instead of waiting on a nonsensical Credit Union employee calling me to ask the same question they have asked a thousand times before.

And this is where I sit. Wondering. Hoping. Dreaming. Failing. I guess you can't call me a failure. I have a gorgeous wife, a wonderful daughter, and the ability to keep a roof over my head and food in our bellies. Why do I feel like a failure? I don't, but I do feel contained. Minutes pass by like hours as I await the next question. Will the next one challenge me? Doubtful. My only solace is the amplification in my left ear from my iPod. Although this helps get me through the day, it also teases me.

"Listen to what you could be doing if you had more time to devote." "Why aren't you on the road right now?" What the fuck? I should be. Did I make a wrong turn? Can I still find a way to follow the path? Can I escape from my cubicle? Tune in next week to find that nothing has changed...