How long did I spend deciding to write this blog? Ten minutes. “Should I write about what’s going on?” I asked Gayle. “Actually talk about money. How many bloggers talk about their money situations unless they are dispensing advice, or buffing their prosperity hair before heading out to brunch. Lunch. Coffee. Whatever. Who talks about the crap one goes through? Should I do that?
Is there a speck of value here for people?” “Hmm. It’s a bold thing to do,” says she. Leaving the decision, of course, to me.
There is a certain amount of fakery going on. Ask someone how things are going. The most frequent answer I get is, ” Well, yeah, OK, though things are pretty tough out there.”
No shit.
Another thing. Do I protect the wicked? How about the innocent? Perhaps I’ll do it the way I do just about everything. Make it up as I go along. It isn’t an entirely blase way to read life. It’s a working method. Process. It all comes out of the same pot of stew, the way my life hums. And given my current circumstances, I am not doing it well.
Yes, unemployed. It’s a depression. Sometimes I envy those with jobs. Monday is my favorite day of the week. One weekend, I’d like to know what’s going to happen on Monday. Sometimes I am frightened, really frightened. It passes. I am sitting and standing, no prosthetics, no cancer or heart disease. I am one lucky guy. I have a beautiful wife. I have two amazing dogs. And I have, with increasing frequency an unease in my chest.
Right off, a few relevant details. I don’t drink and have not had a drink in almost eighteen years. I don’t smoke. I have no problem with discipline in getting work made. I work without thinking about it as work. Working on images is the most relaxing activity because it is so focused and in some kind of zone. The world cannot hurt me when I am making images.
I have a problem getting paid. I’m not the stupidest brick in the wall. I read books, magazines, blogs, newspapers, opinions. Advice. Business stories. Love them. How the titans did it. What on earth goes on in Richard Branson’s head? I have a fascination about how the major success stories happen. I grew up without television and was twenty two tears old when I owned my first TV. Thank you South Africa, for being the second last country on the planet to give your population television. I think India was last. So reading goes back to my crib. Nothing like a great new book, or a short burst of wit and wisdom from an online voice.
“You are SO talented, I hear, nearly day in day out. I am sick of it. Oh, the compliment sits well with me, but my inner voice answers, “So?”
I am broke. I have been broke for a year. No, eighteen months. Not two grand in the bank broke. Ten dollars for the weekend broke.
And this is the part that might be taboo. So I’ll dance with it African style. Personal finance is kept to oneself. Do not discuss politics or money or religion. Well religion I don’t care about, I got that squared away years ago. Politics was great sport during the election. Now it’s just an argument and the public is pissed off. Politics is too big, it has fallen off the table and made a mess on the floor. Too many cleaners and salesmen, too big a government. I leave it there. But my bank balance? Hey, that’s no one’s business.
Which is why I am going to write this blog and attach pictures that have absolutely nothing to do with the content. Because I take pictures, thousands of them, and this is where I’ll post them. I’ll write this blog because we are at point zero. From here there is only beginning. There is no end here, just the starting. I have absolutely no idea where this blog will go because I have no idea where tomorrow is going. Yes I know no-one does either, but if you have had a job for thirty years and a cubicle and there are no signs you are being let go Friday, well, maybe you have just a little more wiggle-room than I at this moment. If you are in this position, count yourself lucky and work very hard. You need your job.
0 Responses
Stay in touch with the conversation, subscribe to the RSS feed for comments on this post.