Days of Whine and Tulips
A recession that gets personal can easily send a person into a personal depression. And I should know.
I know because my only chance for a paying gig this year if somebody makes me the poster boy for the Recession No Stars of 09. I think the poster people could use the photo on my brand new foodstamps EBT card, although I do look a little like I’m about to go postal. Luckily, that crazed sparkle in my left eye happens to be a good look for me.
It is such a good picture that it gets me Senior Citizen discounts even though I’m more than a Presidential term away from 65. I think nice lady who sells me train tickets feels sorry for a not-quite old-dude who uses his food stamp card to ask for a discount he doesn’t deserve. At least, I hope so, because if I really look over 65, that’s even more depressing.
Please don’t start crying for me. Not yet, anyway. I’d like to build this whine into a more and more pathetic picture. I think it would be better if you slow-build up to feeling really, really sorry for me. My goal, now that a job is out of the question, is make enough people at the same time sorry enough to shed enough tears to raise the ocean levels more than global warming. I mean, would that be poster-boy worthy, or what?
Here’s my immediate problem. It’s an extremely pretty day. Having lost, and having almost nothing left to lose, I don’t know whether to stop and smell the tulips, or not. If I do stop and whiff, and take this opportunity to enjoy a moment of my life of forced leisure, is that like giving up?
Is embracing an empty moment of joy… is that like not be trying hard enough? Is that like putting the exclamation point on Loser! with a capital L? I guess I think it is. And ain’t that a bummer!
Like many, I’ve been cursed by a mix of Christian work ethic (which I never signed up for) and my high school coach’s work ethic which was “No pain, no gain!”
Seems I’ve got the pain. Gain, where art thou?
A recession that gets personal can easily send a person into a personal depression. And I should know.
I know because my only chance for a paying gig this year if somebody makes me the poster boy for the Recession No Stars of 09. I think the poster people could use the photo on my brand new foodstamps EBT card, although I do look a little like I’m about to go postal. Luckily, that crazed sparkle in my left eye happens to be a good look for me.
It is such a good picture that it gets me Senior Citizen discounts even though I’m more than a Presidential term away from 65. I think nice lady who sells me train tickets feels sorry for a not-quite old-dude who uses his food stamp card to ask for a discount he doesn’t deserve. At least, I hope so, because if I really look over 65, that’s even more depressing.
Please don’t start crying for me. Not yet, anyway. I’d like to build this whine into a more and more pathetic picture. I think it would be better if you slow-build up to feeling really, really sorry for me. My goal, now that a job is out of the question, is make enough people at the same time sorry enough to shed enough tears to raise the ocean levels more than global warming. I mean, would that be poster-boy worthy, or what?
Here’s my immediate problem. It’s an extremely pretty day. Having lost, and having almost nothing left to lose, I don’t know whether to stop and smell the tulips, or not. If I do stop and whiff, and take this opportunity to enjoy a moment of my life of forced leisure, is that like giving up?
Is embracing an empty moment of joy… is that like not be trying hard enough? Is that like putting the exclamation point on Loser! with a capital L? I guess I think it is. And ain’t that a bummer!
Like many, I’ve been cursed by a mix of Christian work ethic (which I never signed up for) and my high school coach’s work ethic which was “No pain, no gain!”
Seems I’ve got the pain. Gain, where art thou?
