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make your money and die

Last night I had a dream about Calhoun Square in Minneapolis. More like a remembrance of going there all the time “back in the day” but trippy and weird like dreams often are. I remember buying our first glass pipe there. Before that we always smoked out of metal or wood or some horrible homemade bongs that gave you “liquid smoke” and probably lung cancer.

And there was a nice little new age-y kiosk that sold all sorts of gorgeous silver and amber rings and necklaces and whatnot. Never bought anything there, but it was fun to look.

And a sock store. Can't go wrong with socks. Never bought any, but I had better restraint in my youth.

And that wall in the stairwell that was made of sandstone bricks where people carved their names in it.

And it let out to Cheap-o records and that weird little bookstore.

So... I just went online to look up Calhoun Square and it's not the place it used to be. It's got mass produced restaurants and high end yuppie crap stores and it makes me sad.

You can never go home again, they say.

You can't retrieve the past, not even in dreams. The way this country is going just makes me shutter inside.

I see why old people pack themselves into retirement villages and planned communities to avoid having to deal with the outside world and young people and real life. You get to a certain age and you just want to remain in a soft cottony cocoon of the way things used to be, because real life—modern life—is hard and cold with sharp curves and dangerous intersections.

I begin to think I fucked up when I didn't dedicate my youth to some soul sucking career (like a banker) so I could squirrel money away for that magic age of 65.

Dedicate your youth and your health to making money so you can sit back and rot and wait to die because you've earned it.

I honestly don't know what the fuck I'm going to do when I get “old”. I will be one of those pathetic old scrub women with grey scraggly witch hair and a limp who has no retirement plan and no plan at all that people point out to their children and say loud enough for me to hear:

“You don't want to end up like HER do you?”

I didn't want to end up like me, either.

4:41 PM - Thursday, Oct. 15, 2015

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