I Win
Why? Because I always do.
I don't know what you're doing tonight, but my guess is it's not this.
I've got Feist playing, The Kid's sleeping like an angel, Satan's Cat's sleeping like...whatever, and the fish are beating their little noggin's against the side of the tank over, and over, and over. Candles are burning, the palm tree may not be dying, and I'm perusing the web, skimming for potential politics which I could use in my "management journal" which is due tomorrow, and which I haven't quite started yet.
The rent's due tomorrow, and the bank account says $-0.43, but hey, who's counting? Not me. And you know why? Well, we already went over that: I win.
Life's a game. You win, or you lose, and if you lose, you die. The most important thing I learned, I learned while between homes, and between money. Woke up in the morning, and thought to myself; I've got two choices, find food and shelter, or let one empty stomach make me really fucking cranky before I die of exposure. And I mean, where's the choice there? When it comes down to it, dying isn't an option, so you find food, you make friends with strangers, just so you can steal a shower, dress in your best despite the fact that you're freezing your ass off, bum money from the cafe to copy your resume, get a job, cajole you're brand spankin' new coworker into letting you move in, rent pending, and get on with life. Because, really, some choices are so fucking easy.
Lesson One: Don't sweat the big stuff. Because losing is never an option. And when the Big Stuff goes wrong, you lose.
And I never lose.
Am I going to wake up tomorrow and think; Well, don't have rent, may as well get evicted, and spend the rest of the semester and the holiday's couch surfing with The Kid, leaving all my furniture behind, giving away Satan's Cat, and flushing the fish? Do I have to answer that?
Lesson One: Don't sweat the big stuff.
There's enough small shit out there to sweat out. Sure, I might land on luxury tax ever once in a while, and I always buy those stupid utilities, but I don't lose the game. Some people might, it's happened before, it'll happen again, but not to me. I don't lose. My life is so absolutely and completely mine, and you can't be me and not win.
Conceited? Nope. Well, maybe a little arrogant. But that's not the issue here. I sweat the small stuff. How'm I gonna motivate myself next semester, when I don't give a fuck anymore? Why do I keep breaking out like a fourteen year old boy when I'm going grey? What right do you have to be more pissed at me then I am at you? Who the fuck are you, and how do you know my name? Why don't I have a memory? But the big stuff? That'd entail losing. And that ain't gonna happen.
So I'm gonna have a beer, seriously consider starting my journal, listen to Feist, and snuggle with the now-conscious and chomping/purring/drooling Satan's Cat.
Because like it or not, this is what winning looks like, chump.
I don't know what you're doing tonight, but my guess is it's not this.
I've got Feist playing, The Kid's sleeping like an angel, Satan's Cat's sleeping like...whatever, and the fish are beating their little noggin's against the side of the tank over, and over, and over. Candles are burning, the palm tree may not be dying, and I'm perusing the web, skimming for potential politics which I could use in my "management journal" which is due tomorrow, and which I haven't quite started yet.
The rent's due tomorrow, and the bank account says $-0.43, but hey, who's counting? Not me. And you know why? Well, we already went over that: I win.
Life's a game. You win, or you lose, and if you lose, you die. The most important thing I learned, I learned while between homes, and between money. Woke up in the morning, and thought to myself; I've got two choices, find food and shelter, or let one empty stomach make me really fucking cranky before I die of exposure. And I mean, where's the choice there? When it comes down to it, dying isn't an option, so you find food, you make friends with strangers, just so you can steal a shower, dress in your best despite the fact that you're freezing your ass off, bum money from the cafe to copy your resume, get a job, cajole you're brand spankin' new coworker into letting you move in, rent pending, and get on with life. Because, really, some choices are so fucking easy.
Lesson One: Don't sweat the big stuff. Because losing is never an option. And when the Big Stuff goes wrong, you lose.
And I never lose.
Am I going to wake up tomorrow and think; Well, don't have rent, may as well get evicted, and spend the rest of the semester and the holiday's couch surfing with The Kid, leaving all my furniture behind, giving away Satan's Cat, and flushing the fish? Do I have to answer that?
Lesson One: Don't sweat the big stuff.
There's enough small shit out there to sweat out. Sure, I might land on luxury tax ever once in a while, and I always buy those stupid utilities, but I don't lose the game. Some people might, it's happened before, it'll happen again, but not to me. I don't lose. My life is so absolutely and completely mine, and you can't be me and not win.
Conceited? Nope. Well, maybe a little arrogant. But that's not the issue here. I sweat the small stuff. How'm I gonna motivate myself next semester, when I don't give a fuck anymore? Why do I keep breaking out like a fourteen year old boy when I'm going grey? What right do you have to be more pissed at me then I am at you? Who the fuck are you, and how do you know my name? Why don't I have a memory? But the big stuff? That'd entail losing. And that ain't gonna happen.
So I'm gonna have a beer, seriously consider starting my journal, listen to Feist, and snuggle with the now-conscious and chomping/purring/drooling Satan's Cat.
Because like it or not, this is what winning looks like, chump.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 8:50 PM
1 Comments:
persosnally, your small stuff is the big stuff. Memory, yeah, kind of big. You put the big stuff in perspective hear though. gotta love social democracy, or what's left of it. Impulsuive, I see conservative people!
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