I once got what I thought was going to be a killer job, that would allow me to make great money. I was hired to be a parking lot valet at an expensive fish restaurant in the affluent suburbs of North Atlanta. I was parking high end cars all night: Mercedes, Porches, Beamers, etc. I thought that I would go home with my pocket fat with cash, but as the drivers of these expensive cars came out from eating a piece of expensive fish, every one of them handed me a dollar. A dollar? A dollar for parking their expensive car? Same dollar for running my ass off to get the car, and bring it back to them, as fast as possible. I mean, I was giving them great service., but it had no effect on the amount of money that they were paying for that service.
Trickle down, my ass.
My partner Joan got up earlier than I did, this morning, and she was greeted by two large piles of poop, and two large puddles of pee, on the kitchen floor. She took this discovery rather well, and used the occurrence as an opportunity to sweep, and mop, the entire kitchen floor. So out of bad came some good, as it so often does. I got a fortune cookie, once, that said that, "It is always darkest before the dawn."
I was going to take my first tai chi class, this morning, but I let the time slip away from me, and I did not want to go into my first class late, or hurried, so I stayed home, where I am on a submitting rampage. I found a list of poetry publications that pay. I have found some interestings ones, such as Crazyhorse, Black Warrior, and The Gettysberg Address...oops, I mean The Gettysberg Review. Wish me well. My words deserve to make someone else smile.
I got the nicest message, today, from a Facebook Friend:
“I am having a personal struggle and your words are always beautiful. They always get me through the rough spots, which I know are very temporary, but it helps to read lovely thoughts.”-- Meghan Robbins
I had, recently, come to the conclusion that my writing was schmuck, and that I had been wasting mine, and everybody else's time by urinating, and vomiting it into this creation, but this letter reintroduced light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks Meghan!
I hope that your tunnel is lit, and that there is someone there to kiss you, and give you a hug, sometime soon. I'm cruising.--K