I'm standing way off to the side of the precipice. If I got closer I know I could just lunge off, just to see what it feels like. And I know that's a stupid move. So, instead, I'm drinking a piss-poor maragarita (out of a bottle, no less),improved only slightly with a kick in the butt...a shot or two of not-bad reposado tequila that wishes it were the real thing.
The inevitable is temporarily delayed, which means in simple terms that I've taken the loss on my own corporate account. Someone has to go, but I keep hoping another month might bring on some new business to turn it all around. Fucking dreamer!
That's what everyone wants me to do, of course. Hope hard enough and the world will succumb to my desires. I wish it were that simple.
No, I need to be the bad ass bastard, the guy who fires a 10-year employee. It really needs to be done, but I think I absolutely have to have some powerful tequila to make it acceptable. Maybe it will wait until the end of the month.
At least my sister is OK. I can knock one bad swing of the knife out of the way.
I did get a phone call today from a guy who is just starting an association and wants some advice. Inevitably, that's the sort of thing that takes my time, gives the volunteer valuable advice, and then turns quickly and kicks me hard in the face. But I keep coming back for more.
If there aren't people out there who will give me a house in Nova Scotia, how about a hug and a high-top snifter of single malt scotch?
I'm sniffling again, hoping for a swig of sympathy. Pathetic, isn't it?
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