February 26, 2005
Today is frankly, completely clouded by anxiety about money.
As a WASP, I resent this. We are supposed to have money. and not supposed to talk about it.
And I remember why I did become a drug dealer. The stress alleviated by suddenly always having cash to pay for things like doctor's visits for the uninsured, for example, was considerable. This does not mean that I would remotely consider a return to the old ways, rest assured. It does mean that I remember why I took such insane risks.
So I am venting all my anxiety to my wonderful friend Andrea, and Verizon will just have to wait. There is food in the refrigerator and gas in the car, and meetings only cost $1 a pop. And I did get a gig critiquing a friend's short story for $250, but the money and story are en route from Albuquerque.
And good friends bought me a subscription to the New York Times. So at least to the denizens of Loma Linda Ave, I appear to be the devil-may-care Homme du Monde, or however they say that in Thai or Armenian. (I border both Thai Town and Little Armenia).
MCO 2005
