One day I swear I’m going to sit in a room and type all day, pocket my cash, and send an army of mercs to silence anybody sending me spam… well, that got dark pretty quickly. “Humiliation’s A Number Will,” and next year I want it to be zero
Wednesday, December 30, 2020
Gospel 182 ~Humiliation’s A Number Will~
Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so um, I still hate Math? Considering I’ve taken no sick days or vacation days. There’s the concept of dinner around here, becoming a big event. I have a yearly eye exam, which is the extent of my medical care. Yep, I still hate my teeth. Okay, say it with me, “This Is America,” how about I am a “Real American.” You’ll have to excuse me, Inspector Echo. The Stimulus Talk and my usual complaints, numbers have been on my brain. With enough cash, humiliation doesn’t matter, enough not to count.
Let’s start with me and My Dæmon. I’m 36, goddammit, my son’s 15. Now I’m trying to stay clean, Inspector Echo when I talk to you, but I’ll put the question out there. When’s the last time I’ve had sex? Meanwhile is the Dæmon living the life, meds, food, yes… However, he could have more, but where’s the money going? Let’s say I’m “supporting” three artists. Depends on how you define art. I can’t tell you how much I’ve spent on the random “expressions.” Or how about the money that went towards “Capital A” SIGH. Well, make more money, you say; how long have I been at the Day Job? Nine years, Inspector, taking orders. And each and every day there, I’m either depressed, destructive or damned. What about all the money I paid to not publish a book now?
I mentioned Capital A, but how many women have stopped talking to me this year alone? I’m going to say three, but even that’s a shot in the dark. Better to keep my mouth shut, but tomorrow, of course, is The Closing of the Year. Pop Culture is much served. While fighting off my addictions. You know within Six Impossible Things, “5 Days” so far. Doing everything to keep my mind occupied, and you see how that’s going. Remember, I had to wipe my phone of such and such, still leaving six thousand pictures altogether. Again I think about writing three NaNoWriMos between two camps and November. Four hundred words daily for the year is around 146,000 or nearly three NaNoWriMos. Not one dollar earned doing what I love still.
Before I forget, two Pinterest accounts are gone. Another “explicit” account wrecked. More sugar daddy/momma accounts blocked between Whisper and Goodreads. Big numbers Inspector Echo still Humiliation’s A Number Will.
I Will Have No Fear