The chicken coop
February 20, 2009
Hook line and sinker. I eat it up hungry then smile like a fool with a hook in my belly.
More than how you talk, you have to be careful how you listen. Everything is a negotiation, whether consciously or not. The conscious ones have the upper hand, is all.
I suppose that some of us get it naturally the way some of us are tall or lean or handsome. Not just a silver tongue, either. In fact, nothing like a silver tongue. It's something like boxing or hunting or chess. Hell, it's something.
The thing is that you have to stay on your toes, and you have to know who's in the ring with you. Otherwise you'll never make it happen the way it does in your head, smooth and fluid like swimming to a fish or bobbing to a balloon. There's friction because you're making it.
Deep down somewhere you've got yourself in a full nelson and you're shoving your face in the dirt. You're crazy, really.
Do: Money save. Career build. Wife get. Child have.
But I'm slippery too, wiry and born to fight, and that's how I'll get me. Soon enough I'll slip out and counter with a frantic free man run like a chicken from a chopping block, wings flapping and neck working with every frenzied step. I never saw that one coming.
See if you can catch me then, buddy. Just you see.
Tags for this piece: travel strange change anxiety chicken coop