I have always been real comfortable with the idea that we are not the same person one day to the next. Every day is like a new life if you ask me, like those bugs that get born, find another bug to fuck, wipe themself off on a leaf and then die the same day.
Some days you do not notice the change. One day merges into the next; one beer merges into the next; one Canuck losing season merges into the next.
Today, on the other hand, was one of those days, when I looked in the mirror in the morning, I had to ask myself, "Who is that dirty old motherfucker?"
Then I went to work and one work week pretty much merged into the last like usual. I had one more day of seniority but it was someone else, the new motherfucking me, that was watching the clock tick, tick, tick today.
3 comments:
dude. good to hear from you.
I was rereading "Germinal" by Emile Zola. Right at the start two French coal miners, circa 1850 are comparing their seniority and arguing the relative merits of retiring early or late. I thought, you mean we've been having this bullshit conversation for a couple of centuries now?
I say rereading because I read it when I was young. When I was young I was paying attention to the young hotheads who were out to smash them boojwazees. This time I paid attention to the old bastards who were hoping for some kind of cash out before they dropped dead.
Ever since what we know as the Industrial Revolution got started it has been the same. On the one hand the clench-fisted young hotheads; on the other the old guys hoping for as many afternoons on their porch as they can get once they cash in. It is not much but every oldtimer I have ever talked to who made to their porch after a lifetime of listening to one cocksucker after another tell them to do this and do that says it was well worth it, strikes and all.
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