Ah, after the first half dozen or so I really ran out of patience with them. I mean, to the point where I couldn't even just sit there and be silent and let my mind wander. I had to leave.
This guy reminded me of a guy I knew...who spoke dismissively about "grubbing for money" and how wonderful it was for people to create without monetary motivation...
Yet, he had no trouble allowing others to pick up his bills with that same money.
It's also amazing how many items a mooch will order while letting another pick up the tab! Appetizer, coffee, wine, dessert...
Still, at arm's length, yes, some entertaining conversations can be had. And they certainly network like crazy. Hmm... reminds me of the ones who hit on anything female that moves.
Except that the person picking up the bills was...me. By the sweat of my brow.
Literally. Unloading semi-trucks at the post office. Or, during more wretched periods, being the one to sell my blood to get $10 for food.
Since he, you know, shouldn't have to Sully his Talent by doing something depressing like working. (Or selling his own blood.) Certainly not by actually using that talent to provide income.
And it was a world-class talent. Meaning he pretty much could have written his own ticket, paid some bills, without ever having to really Stoop or Sell Out or anything approaching all that.
My only excuse is, I was only sixteen when we met, and born and bred to be Perfect Victim to his peculiar predations.
I have trouble, these days, remembering what it was like to be in that frame of mind and spirit. I've come so far it seems alien to me, now, like another person I look back to with a sort of sad, and sometimes horrified, empathy.
But I never forget the joy of being free. Never forget the joy of being truly loved by a truly decent man, either.
Darlings, where to start? Sometimes I feel as though I have lived a thousand lives in this one, dewy and unlined though my complexion may be. To Tell All may be to intimidate; thus I maintain, at most times, a discreet reserve. But here I share my musings, perhaps revealing the secret to my exquisite poise and charm.
4 comments:
Ah, after the first half dozen or so I really ran out of patience with them. I mean, to the point where I couldn't even just sit there and be silent and let my mind wander. I had to leave.
Sorry.
This guy reminded me of a guy I knew...who spoke dismissively about "grubbing for money" and how wonderful it was for people to create without monetary motivation...
Yet, he had no trouble allowing others to pick up his bills with that same money.
It's also amazing how many items a mooch will order while letting another pick up the tab! Appetizer, coffee, wine, dessert...
Still, at arm's length, yes, some entertaining conversations can be had. And they certainly network like crazy. Hmm... reminds me of the ones who hit on anything female that moves.
A-
Nancy, you just pegged my first husband to a t.
Except that the person picking up the bills was...me. By the sweat of my brow.
Literally. Unloading semi-trucks at the post office. Or, during more wretched periods, being the one to sell my blood to get $10 for food.
Since he, you know, shouldn't have to Sully his Talent by doing something depressing like working. (Or selling his own blood.) Certainly not by actually using that talent to provide income.
And it was a world-class talent. Meaning he pretty much could have written his own ticket, paid some bills, without ever having to really Stoop or Sell Out or anything approaching all that.
My only excuse is, I was only sixteen when we met, and born and bred to be Perfect Victim to his peculiar predations.
I have trouble, these days, remembering what it was like to be in that frame of mind and spirit. I've come so far it seems alien to me, now, like another person I look back to with a sort of sad, and sometimes horrified, empathy.
But I never forget the joy of being free. Never forget the joy of being truly loved by a truly decent man, either.
Never.
Post a Comment