Rich man poor man beggar man thief

It amazes me how I can shift through these roles, personally, in a month's time. When I'm billing beaucoup hours, I'm a rich (to me) man for a month, without a worry in the world. Yet when I'm billing a trifle few hours, I feel like a poor man / beggar man. (See that donation button?) And, well, you all know about my youthful proclivity for (I'll stop short of saying my "excellence at") thievery. So that thief man is never far away. In a pinch I'd resort to whatever I had to resort to. It's a plus that I would be good at it.

Inconsistency breeds mania in me. When I have the money, I engage in the dysfunction-fed art of shopping my ass off. It's not really shopaholism because I don't buy big stuff, just stuff I've been needing. Of course, I guess, alcoholics don't take "big drinks" either. But I see my spending in times of relative affluence as a response to the unpredictability of being in business, trying to grow a business -- not to mention being a mom in the summertime. (What are we going to doooo todayyyyyy, mommmm?)

Today, for instance, I'm sitting here all pissed off that our "lazy Sunday at the pool," which is what the club calls its summer Sunday festivities, isn't happening because the weather stinks. That's the Rich Man part of me, who can manage to summon and express disdain for such a calamity. It's borne from my narcissistic wounding. It makes me kind of sick.

And yet, quite honestly, I do want my poolside lounging today.

Then the beggar-man-thief part of me says, "You just cooked three steaks out on the grill--and you're bitching about the no sunshine and the "club"? We're living large like a barge with all this meat cooked to perfection, Baybeee! Cheer the fuck up."

And I know the beggarman-thief is the part of me I'll always trust, the one that won't do me wrong, maybe get me tossed in the joint, but won't ever do me wrong. I know where my roots are planted.

Steak anyone?