Shoulda, woulda, wish I coulda. Finding myself in dire financial straits is merely another opportunity to berate myself for missed opportunity, wasted moments, and general lack of orientation. Especially since my newest roommate would be the Type A, flow chart diagram type, and I am more of the fly- by-the-seat-of-your-pants-and-find-a-landing-strip-as-you-fall. Approaching things from her perspective, I really shouldn't have indulged in the NY tryst and done more work in that time period, shouldn't have pissed away the savings on bleu cheese olive martinis.
However, I don't really regret any of those choices. What I regret is my general incapacity to do beyond the bare minimum when things are sweet, and to make lemonade when things get sour.
What a wasted weekend. Tac once told me that there's no such thing as wasted time. I countered with that everything is a waste of time. In truth, things are a bit more grey.
Things I did this weekend that were not a waste of time: found an apartment, bought sustenance, spent time with Jo and Ceda, wrote on diaryland.
It's funny, but when I review that list with younger eyes, all of those activities would be complete wastes. I guess my cynicism has faded with the years. It is harsh judgment to be measured by your former standards. I can't imagine the beatnik-cum-banker generation, and how much they must self-loathe. When I was younger, I thought I was going to be so cool when I was older - little did I foresee the thousands of tiny hurdles that would cause me to stumble. Or, to try approach it from an optimistic angle, little did I know how high those hurdles would force me to jump.
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