A Beach Bum's Monday

The thing about being a full time "Professional" Beach Bum is I really struggle with Mondays. For decades I was conditioned to hate them with everything in me. After a great weekend I'd go back to work when that was the last place I wanted to be. I loved what I did, I was quite passionate about it, but I was living a schrizophrenic life ... corporate homelessness during the week and Beach Bum on the weekends. I no longer have that problem. This isn't to say I don't work. I do. In fact I think I work too much. Creating something out of nothing is hard work. It took God six days. It's taking me a lot longer. Nevertheless, things have now been created that demand my attention. There's a new contract I have to develop today for a deal that was consumated last week ... another opportunity to expand must be finalized this week ... people from California are in town wanting me to leave the island for lunch ... another group is trying to nail me down to commit to attend a meeting in Salt Lake City ... a mountain of paper sits inside needing re-writes so they can eventually become a book or two. On the up side I deal with most of this from the corporate headquarters of Micheal Elliott Enterprises on the Beloved Back Deck overlooking a Palm Tree wearing a grass skirt while Fran's thousand shades of green overlook me. The dress code is very lax and the Jimmy Buffett station is streaming on Pandora. Plus I instituted a policy that it's always 5 O'Clock at Micheal Elliott Enterprises to compensate THE employee for lack of actual profit. But it's Monday ... so I got up and stumbled to the office ... then I went to the outdoor shower to think because my head was foggy from the weekend ... afterwards I went to The Breakfast Club where all of these homeless people were there waiting on me claiming that services in Savannah had gone to shit and they needed advice. "HEY," I yelled, "I haven't had freaking coffee yet! How do you expect me to solve the world's problems without coffee first?" They all sat down without speaking. "Hey Rev," Nancee asked. "Can these guys pay?" Charlie pulls out a credit card slapping it on the counter. Rolling my eyes, I don't ask whose name is on the card. "So you'll have your people call our people and set something up," Charlie asked. "Yep," I laugh. Riding my bicycle back to the office, I scribble a note to meet with them soon. I mean I have too. They hitchhiked all the way to Tybee Island to see me ... at least I think they hitchhiked ... they could have stolen a car or purposely gotten themselves arrested by the Tybee Island Police Department so they could see me (Believe me, this is how it really happens! They as scupulous as elected officals and clergy!). The sun rises above the Palm Tree so I put on sun tan lotion. Another perk of working here is that you can tan all day long. Lost in thought, I find myself staring at the grill. "Steaks would be good tonight," I say to Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog. Micheal Elliott Enterprises is extremely pet friendly. Just as I hit the first key on Netbook, Cassidy the five year old, walks out adhering to the company dress code. "Hey Mike, will you make Cinnamon Rolls?" "Great!" I sigh. My days already been wrecked! So I make Cinnamon Rolls and she tells me that our dog is not gay. "What do you have against blended families," I ask her. "He's adorable," she says cuddling him on the floor. "Yep," I say. I hope I get something done today. If I don't though ... it's Monday ... who cares?