Some days, it’s hard being a husband

Message from Fox: Unknown, you big pussy. Get off your lazy ass and make the magic happen. You're the king of excuses.

Message from Fox: Unknown, you big pussy. Get off your lazy ass and make the magic happen. You’re the king of excuses.

I should have paid more attention in school when I was younger.

If only my parents had given me a modicum of guidance how to be successful in life, though they weren’t exactly models of it.

It probably would have been better had I not spent years 18 – 25 watching TV, going to movies, reading comic books, thinking I wouldn’t live to see 25, and not doing anything to build for my future.

Oops. Slight miscalculation on my part.

Would have, should have, could have. Famous last words of most f**k-ups.

And though I feel like I turned my life around by finishing college and getting a good job, I am paying a price for my stupidity and laziness that reveals itself – painfully – in my role as husband.

The short of it: My wife hates her job, but it affords her a very good salary for part-time work, though she works full-time a lot, which is sort of the American way, isn’t it? We all work more hours than we have to for fear we’ll lose our jobs to one of the many unemployed.

But aren’t there so many unemployed out there because we’re working extra hours and companies don’t have to hire more employees?

I digress with a topic for another post.

If I were a successful husband, my wife would not have to work, would be happier, and we would have everything we need based on the results of my labor.

We do all right and aren’t living paycheck to paycheck like we were many years ago. And I know some of the responsibility lies with the fact this country demands both parents work to get by – it’s not the 1950s anymore. But I live in a city full of million-dollar homes and 75K cars and its difficult not to notice and want.

It’s hard not to feel like a failure when my wife comes to me each day with stories about her stressful job, and I see the toll it takes on her. And no amount of my advice, suggestions, or feedback can save her from it. And there’s no way to rescue her with the income from the company I don’t own, or the invention I never invented, or the stand-up career I never had because I was afraid.

I have yet to crack the code of big success, despite what some say about it being so easy in a country of opportunity. It’s beyond me. I’m still trying, but time is running out.