If the economic collapse of America has taught me anything, now that it’s finally seeking it’s creepy tentacles into my life, it’s that I’ve got to get rich, or at the very least less broke. I hate painting houses for the most part, unless I get hired to do wacky 17-color accent wall faux finish oddballing stuff, but that doesn’t raise up too often. Mostly I make white things whiter, and easier to scrub with a sponge. But I am bucking up, and have decided to be more professional this year, not really in the work I do but in my business outlook. I’ve set a monthly goal for net billing for the first three months, with the plan of adjusting upwards every quarter of the year as we move on. Then again, I’ve got to start taking Wednesdays off to chill with the kids so the wife can teach at this herbal clinic, which is good for her life’s desires long-term, but damn, she’ll make $75 and I’ll leave $200 on the table. But I’ll get to kick it with my kids, and will have to take the oldest two to ballet, which is always fun. Except that shit is $136 a month, which is far above what I should be paying for something that doesn’t put food in my belly or drive me to work.
But I guess that’s the point, to move beyond my bullshit, which has moved beyond my parents’ bullshit. My middle kid is only 5, and already halfway through her first full year of ballet school. I hate to be all Tiger Woods dad on my ovaried sperm grown into humans, but hey man, when I was five, I was smashing Matchbox cars with cinderblocks and hammers so I could recreate Dukes of Hazzard and Chips accidents in the backyard. I want better for my kids. (Of course, I did show them how to smash up Matchbox cars with a cinderblock to pretend there had been an accident in the sandbox and have ambulances and cop cars show up... the key is to have two copies of the same car so you can smash up one, keep it behind your back, pretend the good one has an accident, and then pull the switcheroo and pretend you didn’t see yourself do it.)
So yeah, lottery salvation hasn’t been giving me shit for a long ass minute, so I guess I’m just gonna have to, you know, work and all, like some dumbass. This of course means I’ll never be rich because rich people don’t work, they just rip motherfuckers off. (I am full of ridiculous stereotypes about how the wealthy have become wealthy. My father was an alcoholic chain saw mechanic with a 7th grade education, but had read enough books in his own adult time to understand how to put together a good conspiracy philosophy.)
3 comments:
i have to admit i cheated. i'm personally way below the poverty line but my wife has the good job. this means i have a roof over my head, a big ass tv to watch and plenty of food but i have to scrimp for a carton of beer somedays and i cant just go buy the music, books or spend days at the bar like i used to in my youth. its hypocritical cos i dont have to worry about the house or food but i'm still flat broke myself! of course when the gal hits highschool and we have to find the tuition fees then i might have to get a real job insteada just freelancing when i need beer money (and of course a 45 year old bum with no credentials at all can always get a job :P )
One thing I've had to work on, since my dad instilled in me a deep class resentment, although most of his problems were self-created, is not to hate on people who got it good. And honestly, I've got it good too and rampant haterism would hate on me.
I also should have my monthly goal for January met by the end of next week too, so how can I hate? It's amazing how getting paid will chill a motherfucker's discontent.
yeah, i'm working on an article which means money just in time for my own personal wastage IE beer and books and muzak... i come from working class sawmill slave yr ass off background but now find myself in this comfortable urban middle class life... keep waiting for the goodwife to realise her mistake but she aint yet :)
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