- I get to go home for good in SIX DAYS.
- I have to come back in FOUR MONTHS.
- We're going to try and switch to two fucking seasons a year.
- This puts me in the awful position of being away from my family six months of the year in perpetuity, or until I get sick of it.
- This puts me in the legendarily enviable position of only working six months of the year but having scandalously cheap health insurance and, as of the end of the year, a pension. I'm 42 years old. Living in America. In 2017. I'm about to have a pension.
- My new favorite thing is Elite Traveler Magazine. I had forgotten it existed until insomniasexx, randomuser, elizabeth and myself ended up having dinner at Hawthorne Airport, where my dad used to fly into. Hawthorne is notable for private jets, SpaceX and Seal Team Six. It's weird. And the lobby has clocks designed to look like Audemars Piguet Royal Oaks, and "Elite Traveler" magazine for free in the lobby. Oddly enough, the burgers were only $14.
- My commute has gone from Dickensian to third world. We've got a couple new families that don't look like the usual crazies down on the river, they look like middle-class folx that picked a stupid place to camp. At the same time the smash'n'grab detritus keeps piling up and two days ago I saw a dude on a bike with two garbage bags full of possessions hanging off the back and cradled beween his arms, feet tied to the top tube, a mutherfucking rooster.
Los Angeles is all about inequality. It's getting out of hand. I just got back from lunch where I wasn't able to visit my buddy's work because the whole place is on lockdown because Harrison Ford is hanging out there. I rode there in a beat-to-shit Durango with door handles that didn't work because Lyft. And this inequality is oddly mirroring my own life - extraordinarily blessed financially, annoyingly cursed socially.
One of my buddies announced on Facebook that the kidney is rejecting. He's going back on the donor list. He's quick to point out that statistically speaking, most people with his sort of transplant don't live ten years. His was done in 2009. He's three months to the day younger than I am, and I'm banking my stem cells and debating how badly I want to keep contributing to my pension.
I think luck either makes you feel entitled or guilty. Me? I feel guilty for my entitlement.