Scotch for Breakfast, and Other Daydreams

I woke up this morning, heard my wife leave for work and the kids catching their buses, and fantasized about traipsing down the stairs from bedroom to kitchen, pouring myself a healthy dose of scotch, picking up a book I have been trying to read, sitting on the couch in my pajamas, or better still, reclining on said couch, sipping slowly, and reading.  I practically felt it- the warm, dark sweetness on my tongue, the gentle burn spreading its’ relaxing warmth from stomach to heart to arms, then legs.  I saw the words on the page.  Then I opened my eyes, and got out of bed.

Then I pulled on pants and a shirt, socks and shoes, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, etc., packed my lunch, poured my coffee, and went to work, after my body reminded me how very much it hates this routine.  The asthma, but mild and relatively gentle.  Fuck, how I hate this routine.  And if I didn’t have this routine, but didn’t have money, the asthma would be much worse.  Stress, you know?

I wasn’t born to struggle financially, to stress out over bills and home and auto repairs, to worry how my kids will be able to afford to go to college, to think about my parents’ medical issues and coming expenses.


I was born to be a billionaire.

I know what you’re thinking.  Money and power turns people into ass holes, and then from ass holes into success preachers and presidential candidates.  Fuck that, I’ve got a plan, if I ever do get “enough.”  When I’m a billionaire, I hereby declare and proclaim and promise NOT to run for fucking president.  That job sucks, and I wouldn’t be any good at it.  I don’t even want to “buy everything,” as the song goes, just what I need.

I want to help other people, because that makes me happy when I can right now, even though I can’t give away very much right now.  I love to tip the waiter or waitress, I typically eat a little less to tip a little more.  Imagine what I’ll tip when I have the cash.  I love to give to good charities, or just people I know who need something.  I just don’t have it to give right now.

It’s not that I don’t EVER want to DO anything, it’s just that I’d like the freedom to make that choice.  And when I feel like it, this:

This video makes me love, and miss, Leonard Nimoy even more.

Maybe it’s true that money makes some people jerks.  But I believe if you’re a jerk, you’d be a jerk whether you had money or not.  And if you’re not a jerk, you’d be nice whether you had money or not.  I may be a jerk, but I don’t have the money to tell people what I really think, so I have to be nice.  My mum wouldn’t approve if I were to treat people like, say, the Malcolm Tucker character portrayed brilliantly by Peter Capaldi,

But it doesn’t mean I can’t have a little vicarious pleasure from hearing that kind of gritty, brutally honest approach.

I may have to steal Tucker’s signoff on a more permanent basis instead of just borrowing it…


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