Summertime

Originally Posted Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Everything looks good until you call the repairman.  He just spent the last hour here showing me what needs to be done on the house, poking at rotten wood, showing me how water is getting behind the window frames, telling me how the walls will begin to rot if I don't fix it now. . . etc.  What was a good morning becomes an expensive morning.  I couldn't bear the price tag he gave me and told him I'd need to go through my finances.  I'd call him.  That didn't make him happy.  I figure, though, that at least we're even.  Both mornings ruined. 

But the sun is out and the day is glorious and after he left, I decided that there was nothing to do but pay him and get the work done.  I can't do it.  So. . . fuck. . . it's just money, right?  But I worry now.  Everyone I talk to has put away money for retirement.  How?  I don't understand it.  But I do.  They do not live the way I do.  They don't eat what and where I do and they don't stay where I stay and they don't buy what I buy. . . and they don't have a fucking studio and a billion dollars worth of cameras and equipment. . . .  Something is just wrong with me, I think.  I am like a good movie about a sad affair. 

Maybe I won't be going anywhere this summer.  Is it too late to become a squirrel?  I need to put away some nuts for winter. 

My problem, not yours.  Fuck it.  I'm just going to listen to this and forget about it. 

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