This ismetime, and I’ll make the most of it after I finish throwing myself this world-class pity party.
Because in all honesty, Ireallyneed to take some time to figure outwhothe hell I am.
I truly don’t know anymore. I’ve spent so much time living a lie—multiple lies—that I need to decompressand figure it out.
If I get rid of the DC townhouse immediately, I’ll have enough money I can live off of for at least two years without cashing in any of my retirement accounts or touching my savings. It’s paid for, but it’s a money suck. There’s a monthly maintenance fee, and an expensive annual HOA fee, in addition to taxes and insurance and all that garbage. Living in DC is damned expensive,but it wasn’t far from the studio, so it was worth it.
I can’t afford it if I’m not working. Not if I want any hope of coasting through until the non-compete clause expires.
It’ll take me that long to find another network job, no doubt. Any job I take in the interim will probably be a crappy job that doesn’t pay well.
Thank god I paid this house off.
And I’m sure I’ll end up with an FCC fineof some sort for some of the words I used during my rant.
Dayonte Ramone awakened from his coma two days after they buried his mother. There’s also a growing swell of moderate voices from both parties who agree that perhaps my message wasn’t very dignified, but the key points still stand. It’s drawing bipartisan support, which doesn’t help me with my career situation right now, but it does giveme some small measure of satisfaction.
Meanwhile, I lie on the couch with the blinds drawn and binge-watchRick and Morty, because I need a little laughter mixed with the nihilism in my life right now. I also binge-watchDoctor Who, because I also need some hope infused into my current circumstances.
A couple of times people ring my cell phone from the front gate box—another number that bypassesmydo not disturbsetting, because I have to let the pool guy in every week—but I haven’t been expecting anyone so I’ve ignored them.
It took about two days for the vultures to realize I’d left DC and travelled to Florida. Yesterday, I started to head out to get more groceries, there was a satellite truck parked out front so I cruised past the entrance and circled back around the long way toreturn home. At some point, I’ll need to make another midnight grocery run, because I’m out of food.
But I don’t want to talk to anyone, I’m not giving any interviews, and I’mdamnsure not some newly converted high-profile member of the liberal left. If the Democrats think they’ll parade me around and use me as some sort of poster child for moderates and as proof that they’re completely in theright, then they’re absolutely wrong.
Ihaven’t changed. The parties havebothchanged, leaving behind me and a lot of other people without highly visible network anchor jobs.
Then again, I no longer have a highly visible network anchor job.
Neither party gets it, either. Fuck the Libertarians and Green Party and all those other hopeless, miserably misfit parties like them.
Maybe Taylor andEvans have it right. Maybeneithermajor party is salvageable, both beyond redemption because of the dark-money rot eating them away from the roots up, and the only true redemption our republic will have at any level is by electing politicians with independence fromanypolitical party.
Ironically, the dangers of political parties are something our founding fathers warned us about in the firstplace.
If someone sits on Florida’s voter rolls and hits refresh and expects to see me change my party affiliation fromRtoD, they’ll be sadly mistaken. I’ve been a vocal opponent of bullshit I’ve witnessed onbothsides, even if people didn’t want to look at my words as such. Admittedly, the GOP’s flavor of bullshit is far more disturbing because its aim seems to be to harm people or striptheir rights. I’ve always tried to steer social issues back to center, to remind people we’re supposed to be the party that wants toprotectrights, not remove them just because you don’t agree with someone, or worse, because you crave forcing people to conform to your religion.
Meaning it’s supposed to be the party supporting rights forall.
Including people like myself, although my closetis dark and miles deep and must stay that way, especially in the wake of my stupidity. I also recognize my hypocrisy and complicity all too well.
Except now, I can fall back to plain language instead of trying to moderate myself so I don’t get hauled in to some network VP’s office and upbraided like a kid caught smoking in the bathroom.
Again.
That happened dozens of times during my career.After the first few instances, I basically sat there and scrolled through e-mail on my phone and let the VP rant to dead air, because all I had to do was point at my ratings when they finished and ask if we were done.
On day six of my time in Florida, a little after four o’clock Friday afternoon, my doorbell rings. I groan, knowing some asshole has probably managed to sneak in behind one of myneighbors, or even talked someone into buzzing them in.
I’m not expecting any deliveries. I know it’s not Lauren, because she wouldn’t show up here without giving me a heads-up. Besides, when I flipped to FNB for a few minutes earlier today, to catch the cold open of her show, she was there, live. There isn’t enough time for her to make it from the studio to Dulles, to Tallahassee, and then tohere.
I’m not in a mood for company, either. I haven’t shaved in a week, I’m wearing my glasses because I can’t be bothered with contacts I hate wearing anyway, and I’m dressed in sleep pants and nothing else, although I do have a T-shirt hanging off the end of the couch.
I pause the TV and hope they go away, but a moment later it rings again.
Goddammit.
My SUV’s parked in the garage, leavingmy driveway empty. I wait, listening, then hear them knock, followed by another ring.
