Some days seem just meant to go downtown. To sit in the cheap beer place. Feel the 30-some temps. Do not abstain. Eat and drink. Then go home. Going home is not some prized destination. It’s like the place I go when I’m done at this place. Meanwhile I can sit at viva! and write. Drink a little. Find some meaning or lack.
viva
I rarely do this with my wife. I don’t know why. We used to go out. Have some food and beer. Like something basic changed in her. Some seminal switch thrown. Instead she sits with the landlords on an evening. And talks.
I do puzzle over the changes. The why and why not. Perhaps I overthink it while sitting with a cold beer on a warm day. Why don’t we do the things. The little things. The little coffee visits. The morning Khmer soup then coffee.
Somewhere we changed. We both did. She took some other path. I get tired and bored of the house and it’s limits. It doesn’t cost a lot. It’s just there’s no time any more. Maybe time is more expensive than money. Maybe we spend time like the seconds ticking by and she wants something else with them. I ignore the cost. Time and money. Money will always suck. It just offers nothing beyond what we need to live. It’s stress. And arguments. Retribution and people. My mom once told me,
Don’t let money come between friends.
And it’s true. Our path is lined with people who claimed friendship. Then money here. Soon those people changed. Some abruptly. Others inexorably and slowly. I blame money. It acts to sever and strain people. Soon the money becomes the thing. Other things dim. Then, I think, we have lost that person.
Like her friend A. A Cambodian who would swear friendship. Would come every day to help. Would take money. Money for help. For her son for English lessons. Then the money of course acted. Found out her son was not enrolled in English. The money went for beer. Lies. For a year. This and other things spelled the end of that. When money comes between people soon their true motives are known.
Then there’s beer. And I have a few. I will go home. And it will next be Sunday. Another day. Week. Month. Whatever the fuck it all means.
Another beer? Sure. It’s the least of the overthinking now.
