Having a venue to write in certainly takes away the inspiration to write. Maybe it will help if I contemplate that no one reads or will read this. Jobs for writers are gone.
Hell jobs for just about everything are gone. Perhaps the jobs market is best thought of in terms of the alimentary canal. Restaurant jobs refuse to go away because people refuse to stop eating. Anything that feeds into that is probably fairly safe, from companies that wash restaurant uniforms to truck farms that grow fresh basil. While less and less people can afford cars, quite a number still drive them, above all other things to drive to the restaurant.
My decision to go into high tech was certainly a bad one. While the US may not be "hewers of wood and drawers of water" to the world, we're certainly growers of corn and purveyors of pork. Our vast land is good for growing foodstuffs, and the general dumbing-down is probably just what's needed to keep kids on the farm.
I watched too many videos yesterday and last night and when I got around to practicing it was last thing before bed and of course it wasn't great.
Today, surprisingly, I got an email from my aunt. My mom's gone but she remains, in her 90s (her mother, in turn, lived to be 100). She's got a huge mansion in Sierra Madre which is where the rich people in Pasadena fled when the coloreds started to move into "pass the donuts". She drinks like a fish and is built like a little tank, like my mother except with blue eyes instead of green. She sits on her millions like a dragon (Western evil type not Asian lucky kind) and I'm pretty sure would call the cops on my ass if I showed up starving at her door. When the Revolution comes I'm heading to her place with my pitchfork first.
I told her of my plans to go to New Orleans in a few years for that, right now, is indeed my plan. The reasoning being that it's probably not any more dangerous for me than Hawaii would be, that they actually like trumpet playing there, and that the cost of living is about half what it is here. Even on the minimum Social Security which would be about $800 a month, I'd not be homeless there.
After all I need to think in terms of leaving here in about 3 years. The electronic surplus market is not doing well, just like all the other various markets these days. I think Ken can keep this place going for a few more years even at a loss, but I can't count on more than that.
At one time Ken had told me - I'm sure he believed it himself - that my pay would gradually go up to maybe $30k a year. The possibility of that died years ago.
I had coffee and ate and packed 20 things and took them up to the post office, after watching two two trucks and the copz evict the parking lot bums, for now anyway. They tend to build up a bigger and bigger encampment until they piss someone off or the cops are onto them for some crime they've done in the area then they get cleaned out. What a life it must be.
Ken came by this evening with tons of boxes and bubble wrap etc., and looked over the "engunkment" of part of the floor of the shop, and wrote out my pay check for the week, and we sat and talked about stuff. I told him about my plans to try out New Orleans, and we talked about that for a bit. I just want him to know that I'll stick around here for the next 3 years, but after that I might be very ready for a change.
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