I am beginning to realize I need a hobby. Writing started out as a hobby, grew to an addiction and from there transitioned to being a part-time job. Seriously, Monday through Friday a few hours every day I sit and write. After writing, I sift through sites and send them some work hoping they like it enough to open their wallets to slide me a little thank you billfold.
I love writing but I need a hobby. I look at my friends with their fitness or scrapbooking they do for nothing other than personal enjoyment and think I need to be doing something like they are with my free time!!!
I don’t get much free time though, and for a while the little free time I got was taken up by Netflix. Can I count ‘Netflix and chill’ as my hobby of choice? Well, I am unable to binge watch like a true Netflixer. The last show I binge watched on Netflix was Curious George. Did you see the season six finale? Barn burner! My toddlers and I watched it THREE times. On Tuesday alone.
I don’t even have the credentials to call Netflixing a hobby. I am a mere amateur Netflix enthusiast.
I did try to pick up knitting. I have always been fond of using my hands; whether it be to work, hit people in the face or raise donuts to my own face. I really like my hands. Well, knitting ended in me being frustrated and setting (read: flinging) the knitting needles. As I went for a cool off walk to the kitchen, I returned to my children using the knitting needles to stage a coup. As Ezra stabbed me with a knitting needle, I looked at him and said,
“Et tu, Baby?”
People, I need a hobby. This is me crowdsourcing, to fill the forty-five minutes in a day I don’t have children trying to show me how much they love me by throwing their meals on the floor or coloring on the walls. A couple of things I want to just stop before the crowd source process begins.
Hobbies I am not interested in:
I have running shoes. I went through a nice two-week phase where I quit smoking and began running. In that time I was so convinced I loved running and the freeness it provided. Now, sure, running isn’t that bad but I don’t want to do it and I have a few reasons. One- when I see someone running I automatically have the same reaction every single time. I shout at them. I shout, “YOU CAN’T RUN FROM YOUR PROBLEMS FOREVER” before howling to myself as I keel over and desperately search for my inhaler. I also have these weird daydreams of taking joggers out with my car. Then, there was that one time in high school someone was running on the side of the road and I threw a slice of pizza at them. All this accounts for a lot of bad karma when it comes to running. I would rather be overweight and safe than dead in a ditch covered in slices of pizza. Also, the asthma thing.
I used to enjoy lifting. Just kidding, I always hated it. Everyday I weight train. I feel like Stanley Yelnats’ grandpa in Holes, everyday carrying the pig to drink from the stream. Except, instead of one pig, I have three toddlers I carry everywhere. I bet the pig didn’t spend the whole walk up to the creek going, “Dad! Dad! Hungry! Dad! Cookies? Dad! Dad! No walk! Daddddddd!” I weight lift enough with these ever-growing free weights. On top of that, I lift heavy stuff all night at work. I work in wholesale, which means bulk product because large families like mine absolutely need to buy their necessities in fifty pound bundles.
Anything similar to knitting.
My children used the knitting needles as stilettos. I have seen these kids take and turn the most mundane items into weapons of mass destruction or disturbance. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if my children taught some sort of shiv making class to people going into prison.
I haven’t gotten over being stabbed with a tool designed to make scarfs. It is just one of those traumatic experiences parents are built from. I don’t want to relive it.
This is similar to knitting, but more of a mental assault provided by my children. I used to play guitar for a little. By play, I mean I strummed awkwardly and sung Just Like Heaven by The Cure over and over again because it was the only song I took the time to learn. And why not? They made a movie based off that amazing masterpiece. I really love that song.
I had a guitar. I have actually owned three. The latest beauty cost me a full week’s paycheck and I bought it way before I had kids. It stuck around, enduring dust and drunken strumming, only to be destroyed by my children who fancy themselves to be the second coming of Pete fuckin’ Townshend.
I know some quirky person is going to chime in about their weird love for savings and how it has grown into a hobby. No, it has grown out of control. Buying forty bottles of shampoo for 38 cents is mental! Now, I am not judging. A part of me is a bit jealous of the savings provided but it seems a bit unhealthy, ya? Like, you really need fifteen hundred tampons because you were able to buy them for the low price of $1.15. It isn’t frugal or fiscally responsible. It is a TLC hoarding episode waiting to break tv viewer ratings.
I know I asked for help and have been a bit stand offish. I don’t want you to dig out that free machete coupon you have been saving to go all psycho stalker killer on some internet stranger. I really couldn’t hobby coupon because I hear it takes some serious organization. Probably the same level of organization and careful planning put into murders by serial killers like The Zodiac. I am very unorganized, so can we just say that is the reason I don’t want to do extreme coupling?
But seriously, I need a fucking hobby. I am starting to feel like the loser who spends all his time with his kids because he has no real life friends, only relationships fostered over the internet. The kind of person who incessantly posts updates on their children because they don’t have anything else to post about. That is so not Punk Rock Papa, people. Will you help me in my quest to find other things to talk about?