Somewhere In the Middle

"Man, I got fucked up yesterday.  I played golf with Mark and Bobby at the International."

"I like that place.  The view from the terrace off the dining room is gorgeous.  At least it used to be.  I haven't been there in years, so they might have changed things."

"No, it's the same.  They have added some more pools and tennis courts, but that view is the same."

"How much does it cost to join now?"

"A hundred and ten thousand."

"What?  You're kidding!  One hundred and ten K?"

"Yup."

"Jesus!  What's the monthly?"

"It starts at a five hundred minimum.  Do you know how much the Racquet Club is now?"

"Nope.  I have no idea."

"When we joined years ago it was twenty-five thousand.  It's sixty-five now."

WTF?  These are the people, though, who are buying two hundred and fifty thousand dollar cars.  My old Xterra is beginning to fall apart.  I don't know what I'll do.  The amount of money surrounding me is truly oppressive.  How in the world did I work my entire life to be so poor?  

I'm not poor.  It just seems that way in a certain part of town.  Not just this town.  There is so much money out there it is crazy.  For some.  The canaries in the coal mine are living a different life.  I was in Walgreens yesterday.  A woman in line in front of me had a bag of candy.  

"How much is this?" she asked the clerk.  I didn't hear the answer, but the woman just stood there for a moment, then just slowly moved away, mumbling.  

"Did you want this?" the clerk asked.  

The woman seemed to be looking into the deep cosmos.  

"No. . . I don't have enough money."

A lot of emotions welled up in me.  Big ones.  Big enough to crush a person, really.  What the fuck kind of world was I living in?  

I knew which kind.  I was in some dangerous middle, without enough money but just a little too much, one foot on the dock, the other on the ship, a precarious place to be when the tide goes out.  

It seems like the tide is going out and the ship is about to leave the dock, and the hoi-polloi are all waving as it pulls away leaving them behind shouting, "Trump, Trump, Trump!"

And the rich T.V. liberals have retreated to their luxury mountain villas.  

"Democrats have lost the culture war," Kamala Harris says.  

Duh!

Onward.  I have a busier schedule in the coming weeks.  Tomorrow I go to Factory City Brewing to meet some of the factory crowd at eleven.  They like daytime drinking.  I don't know how they do it.  But I will go and try to be moderate.  I'll leave early and tell them I have to go to church.  

Red texted.  She's in town, or nearly so.  She's just a couple counties away.  We will have dinner on Wednesday--no!  Wait!  I have to text her back.  I have already committed to a night out with the gymroids.  Shit.  It's O.K.  We'll make it work.  I have a hair appointment coming up next week, too.  And my court summons says I need to be "on call" from Dec. 2 to Dec. 20.  WTF is that?  

Tennessee will be coming over to finish the sink.  

"Don't let Red come over," he said.  

Ha!  

And I need to pursue another weird photo shoot.  I have to keep momentum.  

But today is Saturday.  It is cold-ish for the Sunny South.  Temperatures will dip into the 30s this week, but the daytime temperatures will be pleasant and the skies blue and sunshine bright.  I may take another Saturday tour today, going places, meeting people. . . doing things.  Vague?  Sure.  I don't know what it all will turn out to be, but one thing is for sure.  Whatever happens. . . you'll be the first to know.