My dreams work out my anxieties, (at the very least I consider them to be incredibly affordable entertainment.) They play across my mind like an MGM studio-spectacular-Technicolour-talkie: written and produced and directed by me, the star of the show.
At the time I felt cheated. Months of troubled sleep interrupted by a few evenings of insomnia, and then this pedestrian dream where I’ve completed my taxes? The cheque was for an oddly specific amount until I realized it was $4 more than I owed on my student loan.
In the dream I thought: “I could pay off my loan, and buy myself a cappuccino.” As debts went, many might have considered mine chump change, but in the aftermath of a recession caused by unchecked greed, the worry was working itself into a new wrinkle along my already furrowed forehead.
Speaking of if I had a rocket launcher, I'd make somebody pay taxes, the Panama Papers sitch is fascinating, infuriating and disgusting. Pappy keeps talking about it: “You see how some people are? How they thinking only for themself?”
The scandal goes against Pappy’s # 1 Rule of Life, the philosophy behind everything he does: “We are not here just for ourselves.” Put another way: As for me and my house, we will serve the world.
Give. Give back. Give some more. Avoid those who take for personal gain.