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The Bull to Reckon With
By Christopher Sloce
5:44, September 23, I was writing this in the Plasmacare donation center waiting room, waiting to have a tube shoved in me that will remove my blood, extract the plasma, then shoot my blood back in my arm. For doing that I was paid $50.00. Sunday the 20th, they paid me the same. I had tried to get this done on Tuesday September 22 instead but they claimed my driver’s license wasn’t adequate enough a proof of address. The venting phone call afterward will not be reproduced in the event my current and future employer find this article. The last words I said in the center on Tuesday, after telling them their reasoning was ludicrous was, “Where’s another center?” They told me. “Good. I’ll be going there.” Then I realized the price for my time, which is what I’m really giving up, and for my plasma, which never crosses my mind, would be going down. So I wrote this on September 23rd at the Plasmacare center and I realized I budged over money. I put my stubbornness on retainer because of the $50.00.
If I wanted to I could go get a part-time job. I have a couple of applications on my computer and it’s still an option. If I do that, I’m trading time for money and I have gotten it into my head that time is precious and luck, that inasmuch as time exists it’s opportunity, that without it as unspent capital you don’t have the ability to save yourself. The 8 hours every day guaranteed that I have, I need in case of opportunity, whatever it may be. But I lose an hour tops donating plasma. Plasma wins. I will be slightly less broke; my tastes will remain expensive.
Why am I meeting what I think I need instead of living with what I have? I can think of three things: passion, stubbornness, stability. In my estimation I need more money to affect more stability, but also to feed passion, and changing is out of the question. Practically, I know something is going to suffer if work a 55 hour work week. But where would my passion be, with 55 hours? What would I do with writing? Would I make the time or would I just pass out each night, saying, I’ll get to it tomorrow. When I give into my passions: good ramen, thai coffee, sriracha glazed sausage, steak salads, affogato, Bulleit or Knob Creek no rocks, I’ll suffer for it tomorrow. This is stability, me bringing myself back to earth. Punishing myself for my flights of fancy. Maybe I could have those things, but then there’s the bull to reckon with. Trample over the way things are with the way we want things. That’s the discipline, at least.
Back to Wednesday. They stuck me in my non-dominant arm, no blood flowed. They wiggled the needle around and I bit my lower lip. “We can do the other arm, or you can try again later?” We’re gonna keep going. They stuck my right arm.
I wrote the first half of this one-handed, blood flowing from me for $50.00. They tell you to get a nurse if it hurts. It did, but I didn’t.
The other half I wrote reclining on my couch in pajamas after a hot bath. My arms are still bruised from being stuck.
What you don’t give to passion passion finds a way to take. This is me being a Taurus.
#Real #What'sYourSign? #Taurus #Zodiac #Stubborn #TheBull #EarthSigns
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