I woke up sick and tired. I mean, it's flu season and not Summer sales season. I need to get healthy and wealthy!
After the sun hit the winter horizon, I met a friend for a movie. Many of Austin's theaters have limited seating to make extra space for food runners who bring--not just popcorn and junior mints--but pizzas, burgers and pints of beer, so they're not exactly stadium sized. It's a great concept but you have to reserve seats days in advance. She took the initiative and bought mine.
Like many groovy things in Austin, you learn to avoid the crowds and swim against the traffic. So, we opted to meet on a school night. There's a bistro connected to the theater so we arranged to arrive early and meet there. She'd already ordered an appetizer and gestured toward the second half of it. I'd been rushing all day and needed to take flu medicine-- so I grabbed a few of her pita triangles and shoved them in. Of course--in my rush from the day--I forgot to grab my wallet, and so I slid into the table, pushed a few bites of her order toward my throat and said, "I'll have to treat next time." I have no cash.
My friend--let's call her Scooter Springs--made a sweeping gestures as if to say, "I was done" or "it's yours now that I see that you are dying of bubonic plague." With sustenance in my belly, and a glass of water that the waitress had brought to her, I popped some delinquent cold medicine and then relaxed for a first time all day.
Scooter Springs waited and watched, and then she opted to start.
"How's business?"
"It's ok."
This question is fair game in any scenario even if you work in a cube and don't have to worry about sales. But, it has become such a common question that I'm beginning to wonder if people are talking about my lack of business when I'm not present. Paranoia is setting in. I've started to notice lasting stares where friends look for twitches or tics that can verify their fears of my financial crisis. (What will help you understand the un-comforts behind this particular, reoccurring exchange is that there's nothing the inquisitor can do about the lack of housing in Austin and there's nothing I can do unless I pick up a hammer and start building (shantys)-- so, I'm generally brief each time the question is posed.)
"It's tough with no housing inventory." And then I return the courtesy, "How's business with you?"
Scooter Springs wouldn't accept that explanation or my nonchalance. She isn't a close friend, but I respect her insight. It was ok that she took some liberties. So, I got a soft parental lecture about the value of a real job, a "9-to-5."
To her defense, she's one of many rationalists in my life. They've probably all gotten together on some common astral plane and decided that they can't worry about me another single stinking minute. I need to get my shizzizzle together for the good of all humanity.
"I can see her point," I yielded the floor to hear her position. "I could be saying the very same thing to someone". I imagined me sitting on the other side of me. "If I had a pot of gold coins, I'd have them all accounted for. And, I'd be worried that one might slip out, roll across the floor, slide in an unknown crack, and forever be lost." I thought these things while I tried to hear her point. Then, I remembered that I'd left a pit bull in my garage and wondered if its jaws could take a side out of the washer like Jaws did with that boat. This visual disrupted me enough to realize that she was still explaining the rules of the game when my flu symptoms tipped the scales of justice and my emotions shouted, "What-the-what?!" I guess she's saying that if I'd get my life together, people could feel better about me. Themselves. Our friendship.
Enough said? Not yet. What got my attention came with the second half of the soldier up sermon. "You're not going to have a relationship until you've got a reliable flow of money." Maybe these words shouldn't be in quotes, but that's what I heard her say.
"Wow!" echoed against the chambers of my mind until I was rescued by thoughts of:
* all the people I've met who are happy despite their lack of money
* all the people who have everything and complain all day long about nothing
After the sun hit the winter horizon, I met a friend for a movie. Many of Austin's theaters have limited seating to make extra space for food runners who bring--not just popcorn and junior mints--but pizzas, burgers and pints of beer, so they're not exactly stadium sized. It's a great concept but you have to reserve seats days in advance. She took the initiative and bought mine.
Like many groovy things in Austin, you learn to avoid the crowds and swim against the traffic. So, we opted to meet on a school night. There's a bistro connected to the theater so we arranged to arrive early and meet there. She'd already ordered an appetizer and gestured toward the second half of it. I'd been rushing all day and needed to take flu medicine-- so I grabbed a few of her pita triangles and shoved them in. Of course--in my rush from the day--I forgot to grab my wallet, and so I slid into the table, pushed a few bites of her order toward my throat and said, "I'll have to treat next time." I have no cash.
My friend--let's call her Scooter Springs--made a sweeping gestures as if to say, "I was done" or "it's yours now that I see that you are dying of bubonic plague." With sustenance in my belly, and a glass of water that the waitress had brought to her, I popped some delinquent cold medicine and then relaxed for a first time all day.
Scooter Springs waited and watched, and then she opted to start.
"How's business?"
"It's ok."
This question is fair game in any scenario even if you work in a cube and don't have to worry about sales. But, it has become such a common question that I'm beginning to wonder if people are talking about my lack of business when I'm not present. Paranoia is setting in. I've started to notice lasting stares where friends look for twitches or tics that can verify their fears of my financial crisis. (What will help you understand the un-comforts behind this particular, reoccurring exchange is that there's nothing the inquisitor can do about the lack of housing in Austin and there's nothing I can do unless I pick up a hammer and start building (shantys)-- so, I'm generally brief each time the question is posed.)
"It's tough with no housing inventory." And then I return the courtesy, "How's business with you?"
Scooter Springs wouldn't accept that explanation or my nonchalance. She isn't a close friend, but I respect her insight. It was ok that she took some liberties. So, I got a soft parental lecture about the value of a real job, a "9-to-5."
To her defense, she's one of many rationalists in my life. They've probably all gotten together on some common astral plane and decided that they can't worry about me another single stinking minute. I need to get my shizzizzle together for the good of all humanity.
"I can see her point," I yielded the floor to hear her position. "I could be saying the very same thing to someone". I imagined me sitting on the other side of me. "If I had a pot of gold coins, I'd have them all accounted for. And, I'd be worried that one might slip out, roll across the floor, slide in an unknown crack, and forever be lost." I thought these things while I tried to hear her point. Then, I remembered that I'd left a pit bull in my garage and wondered if its jaws could take a side out of the washer like Jaws did with that boat. This visual disrupted me enough to realize that she was still explaining the rules of the game when my flu symptoms tipped the scales of justice and my emotions shouted, "What-the-what?!" I guess she's saying that if I'd get my life together, people could feel better about me. Themselves. Our friendship.
Enough said? Not yet. What got my attention came with the second half of the soldier up sermon. "You're not going to have a relationship until you've got a reliable flow of money." Maybe these words shouldn't be in quotes, but that's what I heard her say.
"Wow!" echoed against the chambers of my mind until I was rescued by thoughts of:
* all the people I've met who are happy despite their lack of money
* all the people who have everything and complain all day long about nothing
* all the people who are happy despite a surplus of money
So, I shared a story with Scooter Springs.
"There are alot of people who have all of the outside things in place but the inside is craaazy."
"True," she said.
"Because my life has been in flux for so long, I always know where my anchors are." I looked up and opened my palm, and then I pointed to my chest. "I want someone who isn't looking for more trophies on the outside than on the in."
"There are alot of people who have all of the outside things in place but the inside is craaazy."
"True," she said.
"Because my life has been in flux for so long, I always know where my anchors are." I looked up and opened my palm, and then I pointed to my chest. "I want someone who isn't looking for more trophies on the outside than on the in."
