My friend Fi asked me "how are things with you" a couple of days ago.
Fi, whose Indian name is Pollyanna Lay Down Gently, would not accept
a one-word answer, and she's the type of friend who knows when you are
bullshitting her, so I was forced to really think about how things are, and
how I feel about them and how to put it into words. Which I did:
It is strange not working. I'm in limbo - ready to move but nowhere
to move to. I have an "exam" for a job in California and I spoke to a
lady there who said over 200 people are testing for this job. I feel
like I should wear an old, wrinkled trench coat and carry a rolled up
newspaper want ads section in one pocket and a paperbag with a
pint of rye whiskey in the other and walk around dragging my feet in
black and white on my way to the soup kitchen. In other words, it's
starting to seem like the Depression . . . . .
. . . . Life seems strange now. Not bad, just strange. Have you ever
been to the movies in the old days where the movie is on two reels and
one reel flickers to the end and the low budget theater only has one
projector so the light come on for just a minute or so while they change
reels - not enough time to buy popcorn or anything useful. And you sit
there mentally suspended in the last frame of the movie, waiting, and then
the beginning of the second tape sputters and starts and the movie continues.
I feel like I am at that part - the break in reels - and it is taking a really long
time for the projectionist to get his shit together.
But I'm ok with that. As long as I get to see the end of the movie and it has
a relatively happy ending.
