Thursday, March 13, 2008
Time vs. money, is that what life comes down to? Quality vs. quantity. Let the clichés spin. Sigh, people keep interrupting me. My precious commodity, the minutes, seconds, milliseconds, nay, hours, of my day week & month. Then suddenly a year’s gone by & what have I done (professionally, don't get it twisted) except toil for the little man in servitude to the almighty overseer who sits askance from the drudgery and ponders palettes and Grecian urn catalogs and laughs at us poor suckers who diligently clickety clack that time card ad infinitum.
BUT, (big but), I don’t have to work an 80, even 60, hah, even 40 (ok, yeah, almost) week. I get to bug out of this place 3 weeks a year. Does the fact that my paycheck isn’t the weighty tome it might be if I was put in that predicament mitigate the circumstance, and if so, by how much?
Say I go to school x for job y and money z (z=a shitload) but then never see my wife and kids (the ones that make life worth living, the grind worth the left over grit, right? right), except for a quick entry slash exit for a shower shave shit pupu platter and then back to those oh so delectable (sarcasm alert, please check status) billable hours? que vida esta? Poor little rich boy eating at his desk and no time to ponder imponderables (que sera!) Por favor perdon the exclamation point, but serially folk(s). A rusty bentley and a room full of regrets. A short life made shorter vis a vis delusions of grandeur and prestige.
Granted, there has to be some middle ground, some spot between here & there that is a reasonable regime, and I have a good feeling I'll find it and then whistle dixie in the dark, but if it's the highway or the byway, gimme my leisure and a lei and throw a rock through your accountant's window on your way around the drive through, gratzi.
I have an appointment in court this afternoon as the defendant in a non-criminal matter involving the violation (supposed, tooth and nails, shall they persevere?) of a statute that references the maximum speed with which an individual is allowed to commandeer one’s motor vehicle. Said occurrence occurred on super bowl Sunday. My how time flies. I sit in khakis and aloha shirt ready to face the music and with pockets full of theories as to calibration and testing of laser guns, human error of aiming a pinprick of invisible light at a rapidly moving object, and if necessary, sunspots. Wish me luck.