Most of you who are long time suffragettes readers will know that for as long as I�ve been writing and you, presumably, have been reading, I�ve been of the self-employed breed. The last of the outlaws whether in a pair or solo.

That special 9 and a half years is about to creak to a bitter end this weekend.

And I�m not especially happy about it. Matter of fact, I can think of almost nothing I�d rather NOT do than rejoin the league of the employed-by-others yet again. To put on the yoke of just another grazing producer who busily fertilizes the consumer plain with wads of taxable dough (like the imagery? It seems so fitting . . . ).

There is a fundamental reason for this job seeking. Although Ally is employed and making grocery money, and although I can work two or three days a month and make as much as she does in 24, it never seems to be enough. I�m sitting around most of the time and not contributing. Life costs money, even when lived at a relatively frugal level as we attempt to do. I bought a new vehicle this month in an attempt to be an efficient worker bee but it wasn�t free. I�d like to have someone else pay for its upkeep. Have someone else reimburse for all the many tools I go through. Have someone else pay the 500 things associated with the privilege of going to work on a construction site.

I�m about burnt out doing it myself, to be honest. It isn�t fun anymore and it damn sure isn�t lucrative.

There�s an established company in Swampland that is making a move to be a major player. Heck, they already are in many ways. I know some of the people. They advertised. I made some calls. When I walked in as an applicant there was a staccato of sound as several jaws struck the floor. If Joe Montana walked into training camp at a Big 10 football program and said, �Hey, I�m unretired starting today, I�m in great shape, y�all want a quarterback?� it would be about what transpired on the shop floor a few days ago. There was a whole lot of restrained glee.

So they handed me a bunch of paperwork to fill out. Mostly to determine if I was a nice Christian boy, native born and happy as punch to start delegating my money into dubious government coffers. Didn�t care for any of that too much.

I told Ally �Maybe I�ll just do this for 6 months, a year. Maybe after we move I�ll find something I can do on my own.� Mmmm. Maybe.

I�m going to miss my freedom. More than I can express. A part of me is standing out in the middle of a field with shaking fists and screaming �Noooo!� to an indifferent sky.

Come Monday, I�ll have to learn how to keep that part quiet, and rejoice in the carting of other peoples baggage. And grazing. Lots and lots of grazing.

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