Tick-tock, tick-tock? Kill time? Never, never, never. With my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, I’d probably get carried away and wind up killing the wrong entity.
And let’s face it: I’m far too pretty for prison. Furthermore, I’m a proud prude. Prisoners pride themselves on weird tattoos and foul language.
As for tattoos, to each his own, but my favorite “T” word is Time. My favorite “F” word is “Free.” I abhor killing the time, but I adore living in free time.
Even in childhood I craved free time. One thing after another kept cutting into that treasured pleasure. Starting with kindergarten.
That particular time thief wasn’t so bad at first, but I started hating it when I found out that I had to go back the next day. And keep going back, day after day after day...
Just when I was developing an attitude of gratitude for the fact that the rude interruption was only half a day, along came first grade.
Bummer, bummer. The very idea of an all-day stint stank big time. Curses. Almost no time for free time.
Ah, but as fate would have it, my hatred for the loss of free time became complicated when I fell hopelessly charmed within the concept of knowledge itself.
Enchanted by my nerdy propensity to learn, I soon realized that it lay in direct conflict with my passion for free time. A savage fight as it were between two loves. So sexy.
Meekness be gone, I loved bragging that I was always at the top of the honor roll in high school. My brother, Stosh, hated that. That made bragging even more fun.
To this day, insipid cynics still delight in insulting my proudly stated academic feats with the same tired question:
“If you’re so smart, why ain’t you rich?” I usually answer that snide chide with a question of my own:
“Egads! Do you actually believe that wealth takes smarts?” Then I proceed to list aloud rich and famous American simpletons.
However, well socialized into craving the American dream, my wife and I wound up owning two back-breaking, time-sucking businesses.
This clearly cramped our style. I was a nerd with a lurve for knowledge. My wife hungrily aspired for a singing career. Ironically, we resented our own success as business people. Why did we have to be so damned talented at business?
At bedtime, we’d collapse into each other’s arms and utter those three little words — “No free time.”
Moreover, depriving ourselves of our true callings of my nerding and her crooning hurt like a hangover. Exasperated, we ultimately solved our frustrations by a process of elimination. We liquidated our business ventures and eliminated each other by an amicable but finite separation.
Since the liquidation left me arguably affluent, I didn’t have to work. My brother hated that. His chagrin made my ample free time even sweeter.
Forget wine, song and inflatable women. For me, free time cleared the slate for unfettered learning, which I referred to as “my beloved parallel obsession.”
Unable to shake my naturally begotten nerdiness, I loved balancing my free time by intellectualizing. Or was it pseudo-intellectualizing?
Nonetheless, this led to an obsession with college courses, which led to an expensive compulsion — too many courses. Ultimately, leading to a bit of a repulsion — an impoverished lifestyle.
The old riches-to-rags story.
My friends celebrate their brilliant careers. I celebrate my ability to hog free time, to remain spiritually thriving and solidly happy. So there!
In other words, I’ve made my obsessions and compulsions work for me like Streisand made her nose work for her. (Streisand? A major free time obsession).
And don’t even get me started on my unbalanced hangup with my 30 cats.
At ease, at ease, 27 of those are only in my fantasies. I only have three in the flesh. But all 30 are a great pastime. My brother thinks I should be committed.
Meanwhile, I’m constantly financially embarrassed. I want security, but Father Time dictates that I gotta get rich quickly. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Oy. I’m hooked on my lifetime obsession of sniffing flowers. My only hope for financial security is winning a lottery. Yeah, that’s the ticket. That’ll happen.
But one vexing sentence keeps ringing in my ears. It’s my brother Stosh saying, “why can’t you become obsessed with hard work?”
He doesn’t get the fact that, due to the daze of my back-breaking, time-sucking businesses, I’ve developed a phobia. I’m scared to death of work.
Hard work? Now there’s two four-letter words I stay free of. Yes, free.
Ah, yes, indeedom, that’s a fine kind of freedom.
Or is it?
— Steve Eskew
After many years of tackling theater and book reviews, profiles and playwriting projects, Steve Eskew is hard at work on a nonfiction anthology, Tommy’s Mind. Steve swears his favorite pastime will always be humor writing, an affection that began while writing a humor column for The Gateway, a school newspaper at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. A retired businessman, Steve received a pair of master’s degrees in both dramatic arts and communication studies from that university after he turned 50. No Rhodes Scholar, to be sure, but sometimes Steve thinks his academic writing was funnier than his humor pieces. Check out his humor blog, ESKEWPADES.