There's a delirium that comes with old age that I'm just not ready to handle. I won't ever be. I it at the bank every day. Subtle things sneak in like a master thief, and then slip back out again, unnoticed. Calling twice to check a balance on a checking account. Not remembering stopping in the previous day. Things that aren't necessarily out of the ordinary for most people, but for the elderly they're as damning as bloody gloves. Right now I forget things because I never really committed them to memory in the first place. Or because I'm fending off three other things that threaten to drive me into the ground like an emotional railroad spike. Or because I drank a lot for a long time. But if I see seventy-five, I'll forget things because everything is falling apart in my head. A jigsaw puzzle in a rat infested house; pieces missing pieces, pieces missing entirely. I'm not ready for that. I already find myself laying awake at night because falling asleep feels like dying. I can't imagine having to close my eyes at night wondering if the reaper is hiding inside my eyelids. I don't believe in an afterlife because I can't. I always prepare for the worst. I've always wanted a bomb shelter. Just in case.
It's not just the fear of death that scares me. The fading of life scares me more. Everything is so rich and wonderful as it is, I can't look forward to a life that's like watermelon in December. Tasteless. Crumbling. Save it for prisoners in Gauntanamo. Tell them that their best years are behind them. That they've become a nuisance to the ones they've loved and their sole remaining activity is awaiting a dirt nap. They'll beg for the waterboard and draw a map to Osama.
I'm kind of a downer to be around right now. My roommate wanted to go grab a beer. I advised him of the terribleness of that idea. For his sake. I'm nice sometimes.
Some of the cloud cover is caused by the perpetual problem that has become my house. The mortgage guy called today. "PS, you don't qualify for the lower rate mortgage. You're still approved, it's just going to cost an extra $600 up front and an extra $8,000 over the course of the loan. Love ya bye." My budgeting is going to have to be exquisite and my job searching will be vast and determined. Call me if you have a hook-up, even if it is your friend's cousin's dog-walker's neighbor. Bretty need new jobby. if(NewPay = (2(CurrentPay) || 1.5(CurrentPay))) then NewJob = 1. If you understood that last part, you're a huge nerd. And probably one of my friends. Or a computer science major. Or a mathematician.
I may have been doing this before, but I'm trying to build a $10,000 bankroll from $20. A professional poker player named Chris "Jesus" Ferguson (he looks like most people picture Jesus Christ, he really does) did this, except he started at $0 and had $10,000 after eighteen months. I started at $20 probably six months ago and I'm currently at $239.89. It took Jesus nine months to get from $0 to $100 and then another nine months to get from $100 to $10,000. Don't hold your breath. I'm really going to do my best not to be me this time and actually keep building this, but if history is any indicator, I'll get to around $2,000, get a bright idea, and be back at $0. For the time being, I'm playing $5 and $10 HU matches, $.02/$.05 NLHE and O8B, and the occassional small SnG or MTT. I'll keep you updated. That's enough for tonight.
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