Champagne tastes and beer budgets

I suppose there are better ways to spend my time. Camping in my 2 week old vehicle under the assault of unexpected rain probably isn’t ideal. Nor is groveling for rides as an indentured servant of a certain ridesharing service. Yes, I’ve become one of the Borg. Gonna “Be my own boss” and all that jazz. Also going to be the boss of everything that comes with this territory. Namely, unfair ratings, people with bad hygiene, drunk and directionless college kids, uppity suburbanites, riff raff, apparently cracked-out day-drunk prostitutes and Arab pimps that have forgone the effort of learning basic English. And that was just Friday.

Anyway, beyond the realm of the decisions I’ve made thus far, I find myself at a slight impasse among the lovely people I’ve met so far. An impasse that, at its core, is 100% financial. Well maybe not 100%, but it’s damn close. Some of my lovely peeps didn’t get that memo. The one that says I’m broke as shit and it’ll be a few months (hopefully) until I am able to spend money like water again. I can’t blame their amnesia and assumption that I got money to turn up. I usually do. But this is a new frontier for everyone though. While I’ve generally had disposable income, job or not, that was due to a couple of factors. The first being that I had a fat nest egg from whatever I was doing prior, which was not the case in this recent cross-country adventure. My business is operating on slim margins here fam. I tend to get very Icarus in these situations and have yet to crack my skull. So y’all just gonna have to have faith. In whatever capacity that is.

I could very well crash and burn. If there’s one motivator that’s never absent, it’s the fear of failure. Although I think it’s less fear than it is unrelenting drive to succeed. Whatever it is that’s possessing me to pull all-nighters toting around crazy drunk white people or unscrupulous people in dark woodsy areas will see to that victory. The grind has taken me over for now. Next week we’ll see if it continues, ramps up, or slows down. Oh the suspense.

I will say it’s liberating in way to not have the margins to hang out all the time. I’m taking more time for me, which I generally do, but I had been neglecting that alone time a bit. With so much alone time now, I feel a new clarity washing over me. I’m not particularly sure what the overarching message is, but I feel like it’ll be revealed within the coming weeks with all these new developments. The biggest change is the lack of romance round these parts. Not in a bad way either. I’m actually at an intersection of romance, but I’m not sure if I should cross the street or not. Feels like I should, but it’s still nebulous. I honestly don’t have much time to think about the implications. I’ll act accordingly I guess. Or just sit on the sidewalk and watch from afar.

I’ll be back home in a couple days and I’m ambivalent about it. Part of me says I shouldn’t have opted for 5 days from a financial standpoint. Another part of me says it’ll give me enough time to tie up lose ends in the City of Angels. Most of me says it’ll be interesting seeing how my dad reacts. And I preface this with the fact that we had a falling out a few days ago, which really boiled down to him being salty about 40 others things that have nothing to do with me and then my alleged “ungratefulness” being the final straw. God forbid I don’t let somebody berate and talk shit to me on the phone for 5 minutes straight without so much as listening to what I have to say. So when I hung up in his face, something I’ve never done, he probably popped a blood vessel. I mean he said I was acting like a rapper and he was my producer. Maybe that was the right thing to do given what I am? The struggles of a control freak I suppose. I’m apparently too fluid and have the heart of a raccoon according to a 73-year-old Iranian woman that lives in my apartment complex. She then said control is something I only expect of myself. At least she’s got half of it right (a raccoon, really?).

I think the biggest thing for me is if he’s gonna be extremely petty with me tying up loose ends and selling off my car. The 15 texts I received post-hangup indicate that’s likely. I guess I’m not supposed to come back to get my stuff and take care of business since I no longer have a place in his house anymore. Which is fine. I really couldn’t care less about that. I have a handful of places I can stay if need be. I just need him to dislodge his head from his ass for two days maximum so I can get this shit done. Then he can go full ostrich back up his rectum til the cows come home.

In any case, these past two and a half months have been something else. The Great Prophecy of 2017 still has about four months left. I’m already halfway there. Let’s see if the universe loves me enough let a brotha get that yung finish line.