Life in the Empire
the Fantasy Based Community
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Permalink Reply by waldopaper on
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living in a building is different from living in a house. grew up in a house. moved to a building when 18. Back to a house at 40. Back to a building at 67. of course a house is a building. but a house is like a boat. a building is like a ship.
sometimes the elevator makes the same noise the house did in high winds. usually i know it's the elevator. but some times at night i am awakened by that noise and want to go check the barn roof. getting used to the idea of a ship.
Thinking about the QM2. Swing by England to see Mouse. Drop by S. Africa to see Cal. Then around the Horn.
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Permalink Reply by Cal on
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If you drop by down south here you will find me in a whole new land ... working out who I am to become. Initial shock wearing off, can navigate without sweating to most major shopping malls, run errands, do book keeping and other odd projects that emerge from the lives of my sister (lawyer) and brother-in-law (doctor) and the B&B on the property. Good news is I got the all clear on rationality from investigating psychologist so have not been institutionalized & am basically being given a safe place to recover from a rather long patch of trauma which has taken it's toll on my physiology .... falling prey to any virus/ bug that is within 100m of me. I am lucky I survived. I have a roof over my head & food & am useful to the family .... life is good.
My last little project was cleaning up a database for rural poverty alleviation project - teaching people to do bee farming ... chap that roped me into it has colourful history of entrpreneuring in sine waves hovering between institutionalization & jail for fund mismanagement, so I probably am not going to get paid - but my rule in this new life is "show up" ... so I learnt a lot about bees & the richness of spirit of the rural poor. The entrepeneur was a professional photographer at one stage ... wonderful eye for people
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Permalink Reply by pan on
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Lovely.
Good to hear that your transition is OK for now.
I'm entering into the height of rejection season - have submitted over 25 applications and have only had one nibble. I am not consoled by the realization that other highly qualified people are experiencing the same thing.
I am very much in limbo. This is not my life, this is not my house, this is not my beautiful wife. Jo really wants be to be with her, but she also knows that she (and I) couldn't stand me being a house-husband.
Starting to realize that I might not be able to have meaningful work any more. And maybe there never was any meaning to my work.
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Dude- you got the fifty-something blues. Can't quit for a decade or so yet... sick of it enough to quit now... but you still love your work. The hassle is getting paid for it.
Hassle #2 is when to say, "fuck it- i'm cashing out." You get to do that at 63. You get a shit ton more bread if you wait until yer 75... but the stats just didn't pencil out for me.
Still dreaming of prototype Slipcraft... really want to write Gberg. But moving from house to building has changed my perspective a bit. Since I'm homeless... may as well enjoy it!
Don't know of any cure for the 50-something blues... except turning 63.
You are only "homeless" if you do not choose to be.
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Permalink Reply by BO on
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This is not my country...
REQUIEM FOR THE AMERICAN DREAM
Coming to a theater not near you.
Damn. 50 something. That's when ageism kicks in when you haven't proven to the PTB that you're a team player.
Happened to me. I got my walking papers at 54. Now in retrospect, I can say that life has been much better, albeit things were a bit tight financially.
Problem is defining what work is. Looking for validation via what other people are willing to pay you (in this society) isn't really a measure of worth. I'm still who I was before I was laid off. Still good at what I do. Good at who I am.
Problems arise when you let others define who you should be.
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this is exactly what (the-soon-to-be-future-ex) ms. waldo introduced to my ears when we first met. same as it ever was...
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The most common question anybody asked in the MB80s was "...what do you do?" In highest moments, would say i was a "poet." Hard to find a less pay-dirt line-of-work than that. But that was before i discovered "librettist" thanks to brother P.
Seriously thinking of having some new business cards done up.
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As meager a sum as it was, you still got paid for the gig so you can legitimately claim to be a professional librettist. (insert smiley faced emoticon here)
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There was a period where I was fed up with being a dancer and thought about becoming a poet. I clearly have no sense when it comes to picking capitalist-valued careers.
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gotta know the story on this picture...
such perfect teeth. oy.
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