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Regrets that Rip You Apart. 8 Ways to Learn from a Machete Maniac.

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“What are these crescent marks on your homework, Richard?”

What will leave a mark on you? On your work? On your soul?“The paper came like that. I have no idea,” I said (as non-chalant as possible).

Hell, I knew what those odd marks were. I wasn’t going to tell my teacher, that’s for sure. Smearing my #2 pencil math and causing me to lose precious points.

“Look he’s a good boy. He works so hard, then he sits here and does his homework,” she said.

“He’s going places.”

Not then. Certainly not at that age. I sat at the corner of a circular bar late in the afternoon. After school. With a Coke. Lots of ice and french fries to get me through.

I looked up. Susan was wearing much of nothing. I loved and still remember how the bottom of her perk-hard breasts curved higher and her nipples were always erect. She told me it was an affliction or genetic or something I can’t recall. Either way, I focused on them a lot so I know she knew what she was talking about.

She would peek down. Hair hanging close enough for me to smell the Prell. She’d grin and point to me like I was the man (boy). I noticed I was the only person she would point at. I was special.

A couple of nights a week she would let me sleep on the couch at her place. I thought she was old. Susan couldn’t have been older than 22 but to a 13 year-old, 22 is damn near ancient. She had been on her own for a long time that I knew. She appeared older because inside she was.

Her face was perfect and clean except for some light/dark circles under her eyes. Yet they were the most perfect brown eyes. Her dark hair was big-wave curly most of the time, longer than shoulder length. She barely wore make up (I remember because I cleaned her bathroom).

To earn my keep I completed various chores which included select personal grooming. Pedicures (bright-red polish I bought at Duane Reade’s for 59 cents), deep hair conditioning, run bath water, cook, vacuum (my favorite for some reason) and other responsibilities I’ll refrain from print.

Susan was a pseudo-mom, occasionally a big sister, frequently a guardian and all the time, as she strut her stuff on that bar for strange men, she was my overseer. A mentor in size 6 black heels. Always black.

I rarely saw her happy. When I told her about my good grades at school, she did smile. Genuine. Her eyes would brighten. She would hug me. It was at those times, she appeared much younger. I felt older than her when she smiled. It was that kind of innocent. In some way, I took her pain away.

“It’s important you stay in school, Richie.”

I hated Richie but it stuck for years. Even now I cringe if people call me that. Most important was what she taught me, how she truly cared for me, took on a roll a mother abandoned for a time. I could see in her eyes how much she loved me. If I was older I think she would have married me. I questioned why I should bother to stay in school, what was the point?

We could live together and go on like this forever and instead of laboring over homework and studies I could get a real job. I worked in the place she did. I cleaned tables, put aluminum foil  and mirrors up on dank walls, filled the cigarette machine and I was grateful for the money but for Susan I wanted to accomplish more.

She inspired me in a world that was several bottoms less than inspiring. Was it romantic love I felt? Not sure. I loved her but couldn’t forge the feelings correctly in my head. They only went so far. My life experiences then were too limited to put the pieces together properly.

I’m saddened (tortured) even today,  how I never asked her why she cared so much, why she bothered. What was her past like? I don’t recall any family discussed, any photos hanging on the walls of the studio apartment above the Salumeria (Italian deli). Who influenced her? I regret not asking. Not caring for her more. I took out a big knife with rusty edges. I…

                                           Wondered what happened to her?

I saved this photo months ago. Best resemblance to Susan I could find.

Bonds you extend to others, those they extend to you, are (I’m convinced)  laid out by a higher power. I have no clue what the power or energy is. Is it God? Not certain. Are these bonds darker and do they hold more DNA than blood? Yes. In that I AM certain.

Sometimes people you extend the bond to sever it. And not surgically. Some will use a machete and whack at it in such a terrifying manner and so quickly, you are not sure you could ever extend the bond again.

There’s too much of your own blood spilled. You need a transfusion from someone. Something. Who the fuck is listening?

But where? Who? I know. It happened to me recently. It’s happened to you. And I’m not clear on my ability to bond again for the first time in a long time.

                                 I raised the machete to Susan many years ago.

I was cut by beauty & intelligence. Never again. Never again?

And after several decades, the regret of what happened then and today resurfaces like a beast. A demon I thought was slayed, returns. Much stronger.A greater malevolence than I ever imagined was (is) still thrives within. And I regret every moment of what (who) unchained it. It was Susan. A Susan doppleganger.

Every moment of happiness, every dinner, every discussion, I regret.

But I say, in the blood is the lesson. Because that’s where lessons are born. Oaths are taken.

In blood. In the blood of interaction, in the blood of intimacy, in the blood of vulnerability, in the blood of stupidity, trust. In toe-nail polish.

Regrets can rip you apart. Yet in a way, you will eventually emerge from a cocoon more beautiful than ever before, a diamond with an additional imperfection which can only make you more valuable to yourself and others.

Random Thoughts:

1). Cocoon. You must heal. Assess what you will and won’t do again. Create your machete protection program but be careful. To live, you must be cut. You decide for how much and how long. Feel bad for yourself. Live with the demon a bit. It’s ok. I’m doing it. Demon has been stealing my socks for a couple of months.

2). Spend money. On anything that will make you stronger physically or emotionally. An exercise class, martial arts, a book on self-improvement. Indulge a bit. It takes time to heal from a machete attack.

3). Listen to.  Music. So many studies that show how music can help your mind, your healing. Find music that relates to your situation. Listen to music that allows happier memories to emerge. And stick.

4). Don’t listen to. People-who try to give you guidance right now. Fuck them. What do they know about what you’re going through?  Only you know. Be polite, but…

“Everybody’s talking at me. I don’t hear a word they’re saying, Only the echoes of my mind. People stopping staring, I can’t see their faces, Only the shadows of their eyes.”

Thank you Harry Nilsson and “Midnight Cowboy,” for the encouragement.

5). Learn to.  Ask people why they love you. Why they hate you. Why do they care so much about you? Be sincerely interested in others that higher powers throw in your path. Everyone has a story. Perhaps you’ll learn something to make you better in the long run. But DO IT AFTER YOUR COCOON PROCESS HAS CONCLUDED.

6). Pray. To yourself. To the healer inside you.

7). Downsize. Get rid of the baggage, toxic chemicals and material crap that makes you a slave. Free your mind from excess. For example, I stopped drinking and my regret demon hates it. It reminds me in the shower of how much it hates my abstinence.

8). Mind your mentors. They are all ages, all forms. Some are smarter, others not. You’ll love them, you’ll hate them. Susan was a mentor. Susan’s double was too.

Susan walked on my homework. I have no idea. Perhaps it was her stamp of approval. I never asked why she did.

The crescents were the bottom of her tiny heels.

When I was 16 I severed ties with her. I felt I was too good for her. She was a low-life stripper and I was going to be successful. She tried to find me. I told her I would meet her for coffee and I watched from across the street as she went into a luncheonette in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. She sat there for an hour and a half and waited for me.

Ten years ago she died from a drug overdose. Alone. I still had time to thank her, to ask, to tell her. To explain. To be there.

But I didn’t. And I wasn’t..

And so I must live with this regret.  Learn to cage it again. It’s a lot stronger/bigger this go round.  Who will unleash it next?

I pray it isn’t you. And you know who you are.

Life & Money Lessons out of Asphalt – The Parking Lot IS the Paradise.

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“Who watch is that?”

This dude is askin’ for trouble.

He came out of nowhere. Kept asking me about my wrist watch. Where I got it. Who made it. Too much focus on the watch.I knew what was coming. Why were criminals compelled to ask a bunch of questions before they violated your  already-diminished faith in humanity?

I guess it was sort of nice how muggers tried to warm you up for the kill back in the 70’s. At least that was my experience.

Today? No small talk. It’s right to eating your face. Everyone is under a time crunch. I mean everyone. At least another person was taking an interest even if he wanted to kill me.

I always wondered if this questioning technique was effective. I guess it did indeed work as I was ready to turn over a watch I knew I should have never worn to high school even before I recognized a six-inch stiletto blade ready for action.

It was my late grandfather’s gold watch, too. It was the first time I  wore it. I had enough sense to keep it home all this time but  sorrow got the best of me. Gramps died six months earlier and I was missing him.

I was late to class this particular day and to save time I cut through a paved parking lot (now more littered with broken glass, used condoms and tall weeds that eminated a foul odor).

He rose from behind the stink. The hurry in my step took my defenses down, my blinders were off and this time, the one time, it was a big mistake.

“Who make watch?”

Oh I don’t know. I think it was Timex, really. Most important was the person who wanted to make sure I owned the damn timepiece when he was gone. Now it was almost on to new ownership by a toothless bastard who badly needed a heroin fix.

Even I could tell and I never took a damn drug. Good for him. Wait until he tried to sell this thing. He thought he was twitching in the parking lot. Wait until shaky mugger was told by Mr. PawnBroker that it was worth $8 bucks. Maybe.

Yet to me, it was priceless. The days granddad came over after slaving hours stocking shelves in a grocery store. He reached out to hug me with that arm. That hand.  He was left handed (like me). The watch. I noticed. The fresh italian bread he cut, buttered and handed to me. The watch was on that arm. I noticed. When he took my hand to cross the street for ice cream with that hand. The watch. I noticed.

I did. Should have worn the button over the watch? Stupid.

This wasn’t my first criminal rodeo. When it came to muggings this was seemingly going to be my fifth go round.However. This time was different because I was going to adjust the outcome. I was going to see how this ended before it ended.

I was going to take control. In a parking lot loaded with more semen than I had in my little scrotum (and it was very little).

The parking lot became a “high-noon,” moment.

I asked Mr. Shaky with shaky knife: “Are you planning to take my watch?”

His face changed. The toothy grin was gone. The change was frightening actually. There was a demon in front of me. Even the shaky bakey stopped.

“Hands it over.”

Mr Knife made an appearance. Surprisingly pointed. No jitters.

“I have a hard time getting it off,” I said. All the time staring at him in the face-blood shot eyes.

He grabbed at it. Dropped the knife. I raised my arm, my right hand as steady as it can be (I was again, a leftie, so it wasn’t easy) and uppercut him with my bookbag. He fell.

On his back. He was shaky again. I got on top of him. I took an old condom and shoved it in his mouth. I took dog shit and shoved it in his mouth. I closed his jaw and then pushed his teeth together with my palm. Right until I saw (felt) him swallow the mix.

Now his blinders were down.

I took the knife. Thought about what I was going to do next. I was ready for anything. Someone was going to pay for the others who were able to mug me before. Before this. Before I possessed the will to fight for what was important. I held it to his throat and began to press. Now I was shaking.

                                                           Grandpa can you see me?

Some of your best lessons will occur in places you least expect.

Random Thoughts:

1). Learn anywhere. There are lessons in the rhythm of the world. Everywhere you go. Can you see them? Every day as I drive the toll road I pass a huge parking lot. It’s a place where automobiles are stored before they’re spidered out to car dealers. In late 2007, during the early stage of the financial crisis, this huge lot was EMPTY. It was then I realized the world had changed. The entire world stopped buying cars. I helped clients take action to protect. I watch that lot every day. It’s 25% empty now. I’m concerned.  Is your financial advisor truly watching what’s going on? Ask him or her. Ask for an opinion. Not the opinion of the firm they work for either.

2). Fight for what you believe in. The people you believe in. I will do what I can to promote my friends and mentors. I don’t care for anything in return yet I get everything in return. I will fight to keep the people I love even when they don’t love me and they try to stay away.  What or who will you fight for today?

3). Don’t let the status quo take your watch. When I reported my incident to NY’s Finest they advised me that I should have never worn the watch to school. I also should have never gone through that parking lot. Thanks. How helpful.  Who is stealing what you cherish today?

4). Don’t be afraid to move to ground level to survive. When you fight for what you believe in and it comes down to a good old gutter fight, I’m willing to pick up used condoms and dog crap with my bare hands. How will you get your hands dirty for what you believe in today?

In 1970, the legendary Joni Mitchell wrote and performed a song titled “Big Yellow Taxi.” It was one of my favorites growing up. I don’t know. It was full of whimsy. I don’t give a shit about the message about hugging the environment or whatever.

From Wikipedia. Where would we be without Wikipedia I mean really.

Mitchell got the idea for the song during a visit to Hawaii. She looked out of her hotel window at the spectacular Pacific mountain scenery, and then down to a parking lot.

Joni said this about writing the song to journalist Alan McDougall in the early 1970s:

I wrote ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ on my first trip to Hawaii. I took a taxi to the hotel and when I woke up the next morning, I threw back the curtains and saw these beautiful green mountains in the distance. Then, I looked down and there was a parking lot as far as the eye could see, and it broke my heart… this blight on paradise. That’s when I sat down and wrote the song.

A well-known line from the song: “They paved paradise, put up a parking lot.” For me, the parking lot was (is) the paradise.

I tossed the knife. As far as I could. I was out of energy. I did the best I could. The cheap watch was toast. Busted. The mugger was wide-eyed and still. Not blinking. I took what was left of Grandpa’s legacy and stuffed it in his shirt.

I got up. Went to class.

I realized the most valuable possession wasn’t the watch. I just didn’t realize it until I was late for school. On the day I cut through a parking lot.

I learned a valuable lesson, Joni. I’m sorry.

The world needs more parking lots.

I’m convinced.

Mental Images you Live and Die For.

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The natural light, prismatic through stained glass was the strongest I can recall. But then I hadn’t stepped foot in a church in such a very long time. Perhaps it was just me that Saturday morning-inspired, taken, soulful, as I watched early morning sun embrace the face of  big wooden Jesus up on a cross behind the pulpit.

I stood 20 feet from an angel. She was standing center aisle, close to a row of seats nearest the front. It was a graduation morning. Garbled tones rose and carried from a thousand voices blended as one. The acoustics were amazing. I heard nothing as soon as I spotted her.

The floor was a sea of people. Most dressed in black and white at least from my point of view.  She stood there. Talking. Shaking hands. In red. Straight. Her erect posture noticeable. It never failed as long as I’ve known her. It was her way of standing up to the pain and kicking the ass out of the shit she endured in life. Her above-the-knee length designer dress color was bright, yet as deep as blood. The diffused light captured her big smile. Dimples still intact. Check.

At one point she stared. Dead center towards me. Yet, I could tell deep inside-she was looking directly through me. No connection. Even though there was a very strong bond a few short years earlier. I felt the most invisible I ever had in my entire life because indeed, I truly was invisible. I was in a house of God and he told me so.

Perhaps she didn’t notice me. Felt better to tell myself that.  Maybe her memory had blended me into the gray stream of the past where people’s faces customarily blur and dissolve.

I felt myself dissolve into a pew.

I remembered the funny things we did. How she laughed at my jokes and shook her head at my awkward gestures. All good. I walked toward her personal space. The closer I got the darker the red became. I felt sick to my stomach. There was much heat now. My face felt flush. I was dizzy. She was sitting now. Close to end of the aisle.

I can see clearer her other children there to witness the graduation of the eldest daughter, sister from high school.

Directly next to her was the fiance. I made my presence known. Quick. I wanted to get this over with.  I reached over the new guy. I didn’t introduce myself. He knew who I was I’m sure.  He was sort of thuggish in appearance. Chewing gum in a manner I found disrespectful for a church. Until that moment I had no idea what the hell that meant. The thought just popped into my head. A more well-mannered way of comparing penis size I guess (I would have lost for sure).

“I’m so glad to be here for ________ graduation. _________ invited me,”  I said because I believed I needed a valid excuse, possibly a notarized certificate of some sort, to be in attendance. The graduate did indeed invite me.

But it was strange. Afterall,  I was sludge from the past puncturing through the purity of her present and in a house of worship no less.

“Thank you for coming,” she now smiled. Right through me too. Close up. Shook my hand. Thank you for your patronage. All the while, gum chewer was watching me. I said nothing. I noticed the velocity of his chewing picked up. Loud now, or at the least-noticeable. I sort of liked that I shook up his cadence. I revel in small victories as I age!

I walked backwards away. Gone for good now. Fade to black or something darker.  I sat in the back of the church and experienced an incredible young lady graduate. Actually, I watched much youth overly excited about life. New adventures. Gave me faith.

I experienced the slight twinge of God again. Deep inside. Like a spirit sparked to life. I coughed because the feeling startled me. Was that wonderful spark now attempting to leave? Not sure. Not yet. Not here.

Random Thoughts:

1). Daily you die. Understand this now. Maybe it’s some asshole who cut you off in traffic or somebody left your life. You thought he/she cared but never really did. You feel like a jerk. Don’t know maybe you got the runs from a late-night drive through a Taco Bell. Whatever it is remember death to some degree is going to happen. You will stop breathing today. Face it. Recognize when the life light goes out. There’s going to be a setback. Some may shatter you, others provide a mere inconvenience. I’m not here to judge your obstacles. They’re all serious to us.

2). Light the spark as soon as humanly possible. If you go months, years, decades, before moving on it’s going to take much longer to ignite the positive spirit inside. I know. My spark has gone out many times. Hell, my pilot light has been obliterated a few times too. Try like hell to light up utilizing positive actions. What nurtures you? How can you work today towards re-building the warmth, the fire again? Is there one small step inside you?

You must nurture your spirit or it will exit. Permanently.

3). Be attentive to your relationship with money. If you overspend, only live for today, take on too much debt, you are killing yourself financially. Perhaps it’s a money imprint. You watched your parents make stupid decisions, you were never taught the basics.Maybe your parents were incredibly frugal and you’ve been fighting subconsciously  to detach from their habits (even if their good). Believe me I’ve seen this behavior many times.

Ask yourself: What is your money habitude? What type of money decisions, good or bad do you make over and over again?

Check out www.moneyhabitudes.com and order Syble Solomon’s Money Habitudes Cards. A modest expense. No, I don’t work for Syble nor am I rewarded financially by your purchase. I’ve used the cards. I complete this exercise with people on a regular basis.

From the website:

Although it’s fun and feels like a game, Money Habitudes tackles serious business: helping people talk about money, understand financial psychology and explain their money personality type. As a result, the innovative, hands-on tool  is used in a variety of ways:

Start great conversations about money and finances. Money is one of the most difficult subjects for people to discuss. As a fun and engaging conversation starter, Money Habitudes makes talking about money easy and approachable.

Provide AHA! insights regarding finances, relationships, career and lifestyle choices. Often, we don’t know why we do what we do with our personal finances. Money is the number one reason why couples fight and is frequently the reason people stay in dead-end jobs. The financial personality quiz aspect of the tool provides important insights about money issues.

A versatile tool. They can be used as a quick ice breaker or conversation starter, a standalone activity or as a class module in a class, workshop, or seminar. They are used by individuals and couples on their own, but are also trusted by financial, relationship and career professionals such as financial educators, financial planners, therapists and career coaches. And because the cards do not require deep financial knowledge and use broadly applicable statements, they are used across the age, income, and education spectrum.

Ok, that’s enough. You get it. Live again through smarter money decisions.

I smiled when I realized: I had died and lived again. All in a morning. In a church. Although I believed I didn’t belong. Out of place. It happened.

I left the graduation ceremony before it ended. I didn’t belong to that special moment when this girl now a grad, was ready and eager to embrace a new world. That was space reserved exclusively for celebration with current family and family-to-be. Not me. And I always knew (know) my place. It was ok.

I halted at the first step outside. Looked back. Winced up at the steeple. I thanked God for the moment. A mental image to live and die for.

I was convinced the day was going to end better than it started.

And that was a true blessing.

The “Don’t Worry about your Money,” Pitch. Please, Please don’t be a Dumbass.

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Radio is an obsession for me. Was. Is.

Was: Talk radio in the 70’s Metro New York was somewhat magical. And talk was all AM banded. Like CB radio on major wattage steroids. FM was for pussies who listened to music and didn’t want to learn anything.

And if I wanted music I could tune the razor-tooth dial on my bright-orange RadioShack plastic transistor to WABC 77 AM and listen to them spin “Brandy,” by Looking Glass over and over and over again. And then again.

Allegedly, Brandy was a fine girl. I always pictured Brandy as a Susan Dey with breasts. Susan Dey was all nipple. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing.

What ever happened to tenement walls as billboards?

I loved my CB radio even more. Around noon, summer, 1976 in the high heat of the day, I was always able to raise Donna on channel 21 for sexual favors on the roof of the apartment complex where I lived.

Once she needed to call the fire department because my bare butt and other more sensitive areas (in between) got mired in the slope of roof coated with sloppy, sticky asphalt. Embarrassing.

How those fire people laughed at me. Not funny. Baby Fredo with his pants down.

“Afternoon Delight,” by the Starland Vocal Band truly was apropos then. Who was supposed to be the stick and who was the stone in that ditty?  Always confused me.

You know you want to sing it..”Rubbin’ sticks & stones together makes the sparks ignite…” Yep.

I delivered “The Daily News,” every morning at 4:30AM. One of the biggest routes in Brooklyn.

Right there on the handlebars-midpoint. An AM radio designed for bicycles. I would listen to Paul Harvey (he sounded old then god rest his soul), John Gambling (Rambling with Gambling) and just the all-news station WINS beginning at 5AM.

In the 70’s the money talk was about inflation. You think we have inflation now? HA. If I collected $1.25 from a customer on Friday afternoon by Saturday morning itwas worth 90 cents. Radio money talk ain’t what it used to be.

The money radio babble (local to me) today, especially on the weekends has become downright silly. Informercial city. There’s one show in particuliar that shall remain nameless. The “expert,” screams at you. Says (howls):

“IF YOU INVEST WITH ME YOU WON’T WORRY ABOUT  YOUR MONEY! YOU’LL BE COLLECTING SHELLS ON THE BEACH!”

5 Random Thoughts:

1). If an advisor tells you not to worry about your money – RUN. Some of the most successful, wealthiest people I know worry about money. They’re sensitive to taking on too much debt, how much they save, how they talk to their kids about it, how to budget. A little stress keeps you alert. On your toes. Those who are carefree and don’t stress about money hold more debt, especially credit card debt – the worst kind of debt.

2). If an advisor is using the words “sleep at night,” and “guarantee,” or go collect sea shells – RUN. You better know what you’re paying for the Snuggie. It’s ok if you want to pay for guarantees, most likely through life insurance, if you understand how much it’s going to cost you.

3). Don’t believe financial services television advertising. As soon as you observe the elderly couple holding hands, making warm and fuzzy with their financial advisor and skipping through the bluebonnets, realize your experience is going to be just the opposite. And if there’s sappy music in the background? Even worse. Run again.

Financial services tv ads are so cute.

4). Don’t have sex on a hot roof. Or any roof. Do I need to go further here?

5). Treat financial media in general as entertainment. Unless you’re experienced enough to separate the entertainment from real information you should stick with watching reruns of “The Andy Griffith Show.”

I see this entertainment factor show up more on the national level. Anyway. Take it all in with a skeptical eye. Do your homework.

How will you worry about money today?

C’mon it’s good for you. Like beets. I hated beets as a kid. Still do. Blah.

Beets. Coming up!

You’re Gonna Die Today. 10 Ways to Avoid a Certain Kill.

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I felt a slight breeze. I thought I was dreaming.

Then warmth. (Oh I must have been dreaming.)

Heavy breathing heard. Stale liquor odor permeated my nostrils.

Oh where was I? Not dreaming. Just harsh reality.

I turned my head away from the strange. Cat like. Fast.

Surprised at how alert I was so quick. Even though I wasn’t fully connecting the dots.

Eyes wide open. Senses not ready to connect fully to my brain.

I was sound asleep-a primal sliver of me was wide awake.

Was it a nightmare?

I immediately recognized the brown, worn, wooden (or facsimile) handle.

I remembered my mother telling me the knife was a wedding present from Uncle Sal. That was November, 1959.

This was September, 1977. 2:15AM. And there was my parent’s wedding gift deep in my pillow, up to the handle. Right where my ear and the rest of my face was a split moment earlier.

And split was the correct word to use. If I didn’t move away as quick as I did, the knife nana used to cut tomatoes for Sunday pasta sauce would have been deep in my head.

Knives are scary. Little people with knives. Scarier.

What would nana do? She would react! Punch out!

And that’s what I did. Straight up hard enough to knock mom’s new drunken boytoy right off the bed.

I ran. I kept running. I thanked up to divine vapors I couldn’t see nor understand.

Thank you for the burst of stamina I needed to survive.

I realized.

I could have died today. Killed today. Just like that. Shit-and I needed to get to school!

Don’t kid yourself. Most are out to gut you.

Every day someone is out to kill you. Even you.

No, I’m not referring to some psycho ex with a kitchen knife although for some of you I believe that’s coming. Mentally. Financially.

The entire world is wonderfully designed to slap you down and take your money for junk you’ll never use.

I mean do I really need this? I do want one (and I don’t fish.)

Sold millions..Millions!!! Really?

Daily, from the time you wake and turn on the radio or television there’s some fucker out to murder your spirit. It happens today more than ever.

Or I’m getting older and as my prostate grows I get angrier. Either way, I know it’s happening!

So what the hell can you do?? Random thoughts:

1). Find a compliment for someone today. Swallow your bile and do it. And be sincere. Set your tone for the day. Tell someone you love them even though they ignore you when you say it. Do it for you. Don’t expect shit in return.

2). Go one friggen day and don’t buy a damn thing. Not even gum. Buy nothing for one day. Ignore all the temptation to part with money. If you need gas stay home. Take a sick day. You’re sick of spending. And if you must – USE CASH. Yes, cash.

Much “Cash” is king.

3). Ignore negative people. If you feel like you lost a tailwind after talking to a person, remove that person from your life. Today.

4). Increase your retirement plan or 401(k) contribution by 1 percent. Get online or call your retirement plan customer service and do it. Do it now. You won’t even miss it.

5). Write down everything that/everyone who makes your life better. I carry a Moleskine notebook with me everywhere and write daily.

6). Move around. I bought a headset so I can make phone calls while walking around.

7). Cancel a credit card. Cancel your most recent card. You perhaps need two max. All the rest need to go. Cancel the one with the least credit history (I don’t want to murder your credit score) and the most in interest charges.

8). Take control. Of something. I don’t care if it’s arranging your pantry or balancing your checkbook. Accomplish something you feel good about. Something that gets your life in control. In better order. There’s a beauty to order. Hot messes only go so far.

9). Give (get) a foot massage (from) to a willing participant. Personally, I’m not doing this. I may do neck. There are  2 people in the world I’d touch below the ankles. They know who they are. Enough said. And nobody is touching me. Thanks though.

10). Breathe. Go deep.

You’re not dead yet.

You have more to do.

Hold the bastards off. Breathe deep!