I Get What I Desereve; Why I work at a book store

Well I have been wondering about how I have been thrown in with this group of misfits. As Chuckie says "No sense makes sense." So today I had a chat with my boss' boss. Everything was complimentary, yet I was left with the "where do I fit in?" question. "How did I end up here?"Raising questions like these in regards to a job is not good for me. I do laps inside of my head. Picking up speed with every unanswered question until I become a psychological whirling dervish.

As for karma as we or any think of it, its a bunch of rubbish. Lennon got his instant karma. In my life, and most others, it is just a matter of making mistakes and paying for them. For instance, take the post "A funny thing happened on my way to the brewery" back in Nov of '07. It tells of how/why I wound up working at a hotel. While living in Santa Fe I got a job selling suits to uptight artist/actors that had a spiritual calling or were pretty lesbians. Why? A few years earlier I bought a white dress shirt and while ironing it to take out the creases I got lost in thought. Bam! Middle of the back was a scorch mark. I still had all of the packaging so I folded it up like it was never out of the cellophane . Some poor guy got this shirt in a need to wear situation only to find a burn pattern smack dab in the middle of the back.

So what did I do to end up working at a book store? If you look back to "Hitchin' with Einstein" you will see that I had to abandon a lot of my worldly goods, taking with Dale and I only what was deemed necessary. We left in the trunk my collection of books that Dave Vick was good enough to fly out with a year earlier. My Russian writers and Nietzsche books were too heavy to carry. I abandoned my books. Now I pay the price. Working amidst geeks and freaks. Really, adult D&D players?! Suddenly I feel uncomfortably normal, seeking to be comfortably numb.

I stop there for a reason. My attempt at being nice.