loan me a dime

Yesterday, concluding my one partial day of weekly work, I drove over the hill to the Starbucks on Rosecrans. I was served by the manager, Christie, who previously ignored an email from me requesting space for a book signing of “It’s Like This.” Which reminded me of a sign on the wall beside the desk of the boss I had at a runaway house at which I worked in 1975 – “Your crisis is not my crisis.”

Yesterday Christie was quite friendly and chatty with me. A friend in Florida, Chris, often referred to life as SSDD – “Same shit, different day.” I couldn’t go there. Not with running on the beach, pelicans floating overhead. I’m more in synch with Dogen – “Tonight’s moon is not last night’s moon.” Which helps explain the pile of unsold books in the closet.

Yesterday I received email notice I was being passed on the employment position I’d zoom-interviewed for last week. Yesterday, also, I received an email from someone finding my resume online and wanting to interview me for a second-shift position at an adolescent residential treatment program, the exact same position I was hired to work for The New England Home for Little Wanderers in 1985. I replied, “No thanks,” today’s perhaps employee is not 1985’s former employee.

This morning I remain breathtakingly short with ongoing rent, and as D.T. Suzuki described, walking the universe “in royal solitude.” Likely with Boz Scaggs quite loud through the walkman.