13 June 2007

Ennui in The Secret Lair (aka '73 Winnebago)

Greetings, Faithful Readers (both of you)!

I've been slack on posting for... well, ever since I started this thing - but especially in the past few days. It's not because there's nothing to bitch about. Goodness knows, it's not that. We have a useless Congress, an embarrassment of an Executive Branch, the drumbeat for war against Iran seems to be swelling, Americans of all political stripe don't believe in evolution, etc., etc., etc..

All topics worthy of raging against and/or about - but, as you can see from the links above, well covered (or at least covered) across the internets and beyond.

But none of that is the cause of the title of this post. No, my friends - I call you "my friends" - what's got me in this state of rampant lethargy is the fact that my bloody car is all wonky.

Those of you who have read my "introductory" posts have probably figured out by now that I am an anti-capitalist. It is my belief that money is a bad, bad thing. (It's either the worst, or the second worst, thing to ever happen to the planet - I can't decide) I am, however, enough of a realist to know that possessing a certain amount of "filthy lucre" is necessary for survival in today's world. It's a catch-22, you see. In order to be in a position to not have to have money, one must have money.

Specifically, if I had the money to purchase a large tract of land, then I could establish a self-sustaining farm. I could then stop having to concern myself with the accretion of money. I could plant and work my (heirloom only) garden, raise chickens (for the eggs) and some beef (for the dairy and the meat - yeah, I'm an omnivore), and exercise my writing and woodworking skills to my heart's content. (Of course, I would exist at the mercy of nature, but I'm fine with that.)

Problem is, I just can't make myself commit to earning the money. I've tried. In the past I've written out a five year plan, I've made attempts to "succeed in business", I've done lots of things to try to gain the necessary nest egg. I don't seem to be able to sustain these attempts. Holding a "real" job is, as a dear friend has put it, "soul sucking". The only fields of employment I've ever been happy in are music and theatre. I have only a modicum of musical talent, so there's no earning a living there. And, as a committed country dweller, there's absolutely no chance of making money in the field of theatre.

So, you ask, what does all this have to do with a wonky car? Well, living out in the boonies means that to work, I must have a car. And right now, the car needs work for which I do not have the money to pay. In point of fact, I have only enough money to purchase food for another week or two and then I shall be out.

I don't mean that my checking account will be low (I don't even have a checking account). I don't mean that my credit cards will be maxed - don't have any of those either. I mean I will have nothing but a jar full of pennies.

This situation does not depress me, as you might imagine it would. As I have said, I don't like money. It simply makes me not... care. When the situation resolves (which it always has in the past), I'll continue with my life. Make a few bucks here and there, buy food for myself and my kitties, whatever.

And if it shouldn't... whatever. Now, I'm gonna go enjoy me some nature!

NOTE: This post is not a cry for help. There is no crying involved. (There's no crying in baseball, either - but that's neither here nor there) Not in the writing - and not, I repeat not!, in the reading. It's just a rambling account of the musings of an old dog. :)

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