Ok, I recently wrote how I’m thinking about doing nothing — meaning nothing that pays.

I’ve still got shit to do.

The boy and his smarty-pants wife instantly started lobbying for me to take more time with their baby. The wife and I are doing about 20-25 hours a week.

“You know you want to spend more time with her,” the boy said.

Who wouldn’t want to spend more time with this happy baby.

“You would love to do a few more mornings a week?” the daughter-in-law said.

She has apparently graduated with honors from the boy’s master class on “manipulating your parents for financial gain and freedom.”

Keep swinging your little hypnotist’s watch, and fluffing me with your flattery. But that shit’s not gonna work on me.

That baby is awesome.

That baby is fun.

But that baby is fucking exhausting.

After 4 hours a day I’m done.

It didn’t help that one week that baby had a stomach flu, a cold and pink eye. She shook off that illness in less than 3 days. The other grandma got the stomach flu, the wife got the cold, and I got the pink eye. A week later, the wife and I are both still sick — now she has my pink eye and I have her cold.

Then came the lobbies from the other side of the age spectrum.

“I’m gonna need a ride everyday to my girlfriend’s house,” my 93-year-old dad said. “I was promised rides, and I’m going to hold everybody to it.”

We worked out a schedule with siblings and other family members. I’ll take 4 or 5 days a week, and keep it under an hour per trip. But that still means I’m going to have to maintain a car and keep paying that crazy insurance bill.

Carol Baskins has also put in her continuing claims on my time. Half hour to an hour per day in “walks.” Two hours a week in visits to her boyfriend’s house (Milton the Schnauzer). Up to 12 hours a week in bike rides. 4 hours a week in agility classes and travel back and forth. Apparently, she can’t live with less than 2 hours a day in couch time (or she starts crying and following me around).

The wife always maintains a list of tasks for me. As my work grows shorter, that list will get longer. Don’t worry about me…. I’m busy.

Bullshit blogging

Then we have this bullshit.

I used to crank out two new rants a week — that’s when I was working full-time. Fueled by the frustrations of work, I could crank out a rant making fun of my friends in just a few mintues. I’d type a few ideas between meetings, and put some polish on that shit after everybody else went home…

But I left Tucson. Got rid of that stress. Ranting has stopped coming so easily. I no longer wake up in the middle of the night, with a half-formed story already swimming in my head. Now I consider what is “worthy” of my time. What is it that few others are talking about? (That’s right, almost no one is covering the “doing nothing” beat).

So, I’m down to one new story a week. And one “rehashed hack” that I copy from before 2021 and pump out on Substack with a link back to the original. Twice the emails in half the time.

I could go back to 2 or 3 new stories a week. But that’s going to cut into my couch time. Don’t worry Carol Baskins… as God is my witness I will never ignore you for that long again.

Other people are full of “ideas”:

  • Stephen Metcalfe says I should write a book or a play. Jesus that sounds like work.
  • Mark Turner said I should just retire to riding the bike 4 hours a day. I like riding my bike, but I don’t want to turn it into a job.
  • Bob Dunst is always lobbying for pickleball. But I’m ineligible because I still have an ounce of pride.

Of course the wife is the one with the most advice. I would summarize her many thoughts as:

“You can do whatever you want, you just can’t do it here.” — the wife.

So don’t worry about me America. Even when I’m done working, I’ve got plenty of things to do.