You Know, Money
Saturday. Life on the exotic left coast, the weather perfect, awakening to another morning after a good night's sleep. Makes you want to go out and invade some sorry-assed place in the name of freedom and protection from weapons of mass destruction. You wonder about that, living in a country where only about twenty percent of the people - mostly children, the little rascals, they don't turn out at the polls worth a damn - go to bed hungry at night and no more than eighty percent of us at any given time are stressed about losing our jobs (and our families, health insurance and houses); how, given this bounty living in a country as blessed and boring as this doesn't just drive us out to find some excitement. The one's who've never seen excitement up close, probably, like some of those running our government. Still, the morning is perfect, no one has blown up anything in Oakland recently and I, a member of the baby boom generation who've allowed all this to happen, am off to breakfast.
Later. A drive up to Vallejo this afternoon to MSM's house on the hill to visit while they were having a yard sale (my “I've got to have a yard sale” mantra kicks off like an automatic drum machine at the slightest reference to cleaning up the apartment). Good to see Eve again after all these years, good to have a good meal in civilized company.
Indeed.
Indeed.
I thought I'd take a trip to the storage locker tomorrow and pick up a couple of boxes in preparation of selling the contents on ebay. Probably just the after effects of the mantra, nothing I'll actually do, you understand, what with the sun shining and the perfect weather. I believe I mentioned the perfect weather. I figure if I sold everything in my storage locker I'd earn enough money to repay myself for the rent I've paid for the locker over this last year. Why does this not compute? You spend twice what the stuff is worth to store the stuff and it's stuff you'll never use, but you can't throw it out because it's worth, you know, money?
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