I've learned three valuable lessons in the past week, powerful stuff that if applied well in my life over the coming winter may accelerate my eventual landing on Elysus' agate-strewn shores.
Work sucks: there's no point in letting it suck you into its ledger-lined maw, and no reward for dedication to it surpasses the indignity and travail demanded from you. At least not as a service worker, or along any career path that starts at points south of the college degree point of departure. This isn't news to me, but its ramifications finally started sinking in; work demands diminishing time from me, and it can also jeopardize my health! Type A people like me need cultivate detachment, lest we sacrifice our selves on an altar some undeserving jackass sociopath is blessed by. Forget about my incompetent boss, my punk-kid slacker co-workers, and the consumer drone herd that is my customers — I'm self-employed, working to meet my needs, not anyone else's.
Mainstream urban living is for termites, not people. Also nothing new to me, but Sunday's fire reinvigorated within me the desire to pursue an alternative domicile lifestyle, probably (i.e. realistically) on a boat or in a utility van. It was serious enough for my face to get covered in soot from rousting the sleepers and drunks out of bed, who were ignoring the alarm; serious enough to displace five or more units ... but it wasn't serious enough for the floor that reeked of plastic smoke to have an adequate number of of air scrubbers placed on it to clean up the air afterward; that all was being used with dehumidifiers to minimize property damage. Because profits trump health and safety. Now, why in hell would I want to buy into the Property Ownership system any more than the Wage Slave system, in light of that message from property management?
The third lesson materialized on my loving room floor in the person of Princess Anastasia, a girl I've had staying here for a couple nights. Like that rotten Mouseturd I used to have over and try to help out, Anastasia's crazy; unlike her Anastasia doesn't drip dope and quaff malt liquor, and lie out of both sides of her neck to manipulate people and sow discord. I just can't have this girl getting victimized and suffering outside, certainly not during winter! The Dangler's back, so he's paying me to have her here (since I can't afford to!) ... so I find myself in a caregiver role, of sorts. Well, I'm feeding her, at least. Meaning the third lesson is that it can feel good and be ennobling to care about and be responsible for someone. So long's it doesn't become a roll in the hay with a tar baby.
