I had a bit of a panic attack at the dollar store a few days ago.
I've been keeping myself busy in America, if not particularly thriving.
My dad moved into an assisted living place, which he likes very much, and his condition seems better. (It's more like an all-inclusive hotel for old people than a hospital.) I'm going to see him this weekend, and I also spent Labor Day there.
(It's a not-particularly-convenient eight hour drive.)
My apartment here in Bumfuck, Southwestern United States, is nice enough, and my job is bearable, if not great, and the salary flows in smoothly every two weeks -- although at the moment it also flows out smoothly to pay for my dad's assisted living place while they try to sell their condo. I'm doing well in my one class towards a master's degree -- currently have a 93 average.
But then I was in the dollar store buying a basket for my silverware.
And I suddenly thought to myself, OH MY GOD I'M IN THE DOLLAR STORE BUYING A BASKET FOR MY SILVERWARE! I don't belong here! I should be in like Rio or Belarus or Vientiene or somewhere!
I began to sweat. To panic. I suddenly put my basket back and started to leave the store.
Then I thought to myself, well, that thing will cost twice as much at Wal-Mart. I came all this way, I better buy it, or that means I'll have to come BACK to the dollar store.
I walked in confused circles for a while. Then I looked around at the people in the dollar store. Lots of old people. A few visible poor people. A few hipsters student types.
Then the following song came on:
Numerous people in the store were like, "That's my jam right there!" and a couple of little girls started singing and dancing.
That cheered me up a bit. Everybody in the store had walked many roads and done many things, and well, sometimes life just takes you to the dollar store.
I got my basket. And a couple of other household items. And a book.
Then this song came on:
And I'm like, damn straight, man. Damn straight.
I walked out of the dollar store, head held high, facing the future confidently.
3 comments:
Thanks for the tracks, reminds me of my youth.Keep hustling X, you never know whats around the corner. Waiting for new books......
You won't regret doing well by your Father, mostly in terms of spending time with him. You'd likely come to regret any other choice.
Southeast Asian shitholes and South American dens of vice aren't going anywhere.
I'll be getting back to work on my memoir about my first 25 years soon. I've written about 10,000 words so far.
Post a Comment