Funny & Good...

A funny life. 

Turns out the least prestigious, lowest-paying jobs I have had, have been my most rewarding. When you find yourself on the lowest rung of the ladder you can pretty much be yourself to the max. Which is probably the most important thing to be. At the moment my titles: dog-walker, house-sitter. Being a faithful buddy, caretaker, and servant.  I live, for a few days, in a big old house I can't afford. I sleep in a comfy, cushy bed. I am the lost king of a substantial manor; a big, empty house, filled with luxuries and ghosts. A matronly womanly ghost haunts this place. I can often smell her perfume wafting thru the halls. I am paid to be attentive: alive, aware, awake. I walk the neighborhood with a furry friend, and pick up shit with little green doggie bags. Not so bad, not so menial. Living in this great, over-stuffed, Capitalist Dystopia, I know there are folks toiling away in back-breaking, brain-numbing, soul-killing, jobs. I have had a few of those myself over the years. The most-prestigious and highest-paying jobs I ever had were the most corrosive, soul-killing, frustrating ones. I often cashed the big checks, but I always felt out of place, out of step, I felt like a fraud, and a phony; I worked with the worst people, totally selfish, greedy, unhappy assholes. I often had to pretend to be someone I really wasn't, and that is a stupid, counter-productive, stress-inducing, and silly way to spend one's precious time. So, yeah, living honestly over here, making an honest buck, being myself to the max. It's not bad. I mean, fuck, it's really, truly, madly and deeply the good life.