Wednesdays... never have i had such an aversion to a day as i do to this day and of course it has nothing to do with the actual day, in fact in my own warped little mind i harbor some sense of guilt for not liking Wednesdays so much but then i realize it could be any day of the week as the main ingredient to my distaste for such a day is the fact the Breadwinner is off and has declared it "her" day. It is the day that drives home my current plight as nothing more than an indentured servant, i push the cart, always a few steps behind the Breadwinner as to make sure i know my place, as the BW ambles the aisles and points at things for me to put in said cart. One may ask why the Breadwinner does not herself grab these items and put them in the cart herself? but that would be a complete mystery. It seems the answer is it's easier for me to do it.
As i dutifully push the cart i'm am often pummeled with questions and comments that are not really meant to be answered in any other way than the affirmative. Jah forbid i pick something up that "only i like", a phrase often spewed by the Breadwinner, because like a small child i'll be told in not so many words to put it back. The Breadwinner feels no need to splash out a few bucks on my sustenance and believe me when i say they are her dollars. There are many reminders in and around the Case de Breadwinner of who exactly wins the bread. In fact with the tax bill just arriving i sat and listened to a diatribe about my little gig economy job and got to enjoy a round of veiled barbs at the fact she might have to splash out a little money to cover the tax bill. Not all of the bill mind you because i make sure to put some aside to help cover taxes but as we all know how taxes work here in Cloudcuckooland most people overpay. Of course the Breadwinner, being the successful business owner, has a CPA who handles all this shit and takes great pride in making sure the guvment gets as little as possible (i believe he's a republican type) but the simple fact is i can do math, the Breadwinner made over 12.5 times what i did last year and i was surprised at how much i actually made last year in my little part time gig. Now most of what i make goes into the household bill fund and for covering various sporting endeavors by the boyos while the remaining scraps are used to keep my life bearable. If you're thinking, books and records and weed and shrooms, you'd be right and now that shit it getting back to normal think the occasional rock show but even those are cut down because the BW refuses to drive the boyos to any type of practice unless she absolutely has to... (hence why i'm missing Parquet Courts even though i have a ticket, bought pre-pandemic, but since there is a practice and a late one at that i'd have a better chance of hitting the Powerball then getting the BW to drive.)
But back to Wednesdays... while i can attest to things being a bit dark around here lately, our hero struggling to keep his head above water mentally, mainly because our hero tends to think about things and when he realizes how shit things are, both here at home (both the one i live in and this country) and abroad (which i'm sure is self explanatory) it can get a bit depressing yet i try to remember to sit quietly with my cat or gaze at the stars to remind myself that it's really all a cosmic accident to which i will depart soon enough but the darkness is still there. I probably need a good dose of those delectable chocolates loaded full of hallucinogenic goodness to straighten this out but currently i don't have the time.
So while i'm well aware that this post is nothing more that a skipping a record, a pissing and moaning about the same things i always seem to be pissing and moaning about sometimes the pissing and moaning while not really getting much accomplished, makes me feel a whole lot better... and really? it's not like it's being broadcast to the world or even my neighbors it's just a forgotten and dusty corner of the interweb.
One of the things that often strikes me on these days is just how much the Breadwinner seems to be enjoying herself as she strolls the aisles of commerce, picking things up and putting them down, smiling to herself, commenting on this and that, while if there was a film crew, after showing the BW they'd pan to the obedient servant in this game of Master and Servant, practically scowling, a downtrodden look of defeat fairly tattooed to his face which only comes off when the boss turns to instruct him whence he immediately brightens up... not much but enough to avoid the wrath and the diatribe about being a miserable bastard, in fact the Breadwinner herself has joked about how much i must loathe Wednesdays all the while not giving a shit about whether i really do or not. Seeing as the last two years i've spent toiling away in the gig economy in a gig where it is my job to shop for other people carries little weight around these parts. The funny part is back at home if anyone ever asks her to cook (see the boyos) or clean up the dishes or anything even remotely related to the restaurant business that fool is met with a resounding rebuke because she's done enough of that at work all day. (Note- as the honcho she very rarely does any of that at work at all and on the occasions she does it's usually for an hour or two to help out, the employees receive much more help than our indentured servant here ever receives.)
Oddly enough, and in the name of brutal honesty, i can admit to daydreaming about what i call divorce fantasies. Granted i always get this pang of hurt and guilt when i think of the boyos but the dreams are still there and at times it's difficult to push them out of the mind. There are times driving around that i wonder where i'm going to live when it happens, often knowing that after years of being in a house it will be a bit shit to move back to an apartment, and most likely a shit flat at that. At least the fantasies harbor no illusions and how fucking funny is that? They're not about me sitting on a beach and cashing alimony checks, it's about finding a place where i can be alone with my books and records and cats (still the crazy cat lady) and how i will survive when that happens, though i don't concern myself too much with that because i've always seemed to manage a way to survive.
But back to the title... the things we do for lunch... which is really just a riff on an old 70s song by 10cc that i used to hear on the radio when i was in 2nd or 3rd grade. My reward for being such an obedient boy is that i get a free lunch each Wednesday (though we all no there is no such thing and one could easily say i earn it) where i'm told to drum up three places to choose from so that the Breadwinner can debate the merits of each before deciding on one or none of the above. Once the place is chosen i then drive there, am usually tasked with going in and ordering while the Breadwinner waits in the car (pre-pandemic we'd dine at the place but currently it's all take out) all the while playing games on her phone while pulling endlessly on the e-cig. Oddly enough my demeanor often brightens while i stand and wait, at the Mexican place i often sit with the manager and talk about the futbol, at the one deli i often converse with the counter lady about music and weed, recently finding out we both have an unabashed love of Jamaica. It's the grace period before going back home and eating in silence while the BW chats away, me knowing all the places to chime in with my brief answers so that i don't appear to be an ungrateful bastard. Ah yes the things we do for lunch... (i seem to have this odd ability to change song lyrics to fit my own warped and weird personal narrative hence the title of this post from a song that seemed to be rolling around the old head, i often do it when i'm alone and it provides no amount of joy and amusement as i giggle and talk to myself particularly when i produce an excellent bit of lyrics.)