Life is funny. And sad. I was just in this café waiting for an omelet. I was sitting there my mind running a million miles an hour. Mostly on the usual negative poor me stuff as always, my favorite show. Trying to find a way out of the rat race in my mind. The constant nagging sorrow over nothing in particular. The hopeless romantic woe is me where is my love, where is my muse movie. I had gotten to the point where I had this great appreciation for it in that moment, where I started to laugh at myself, and in walks this lady all wrinkly and scraggly and she isn't wearing any shoes, carrying a plastic bag. Her clothes were kind of ripped up. I was taken by the symbol of it, how it related to me in that moment. 

Not trying to steal any of her glory but just thought of the irony of her coming in like that and what it was saying to me. After I got over the message in that, I began to feel so bad for her. I just couldn’t believe she wasn't wearing any shoes. That's what was freaking me out so much. I wanted to give her some money and some food. I only had six dollars on me. can you buy shoes for six dollars? I wanted to go up to her, but I was too scared. What if she freaked out? Got offended? It's one thing if some one comes up to you and asks you for money. You give what you got. But if they don't ask, then I don't know. (what is that with us being afraid/hesitant to help people out if they don't ask for it? our friends and family included? Why didn't you help me? I don't know. you didn't ask…) I went into my office and asked this lady Mary if she had any money. Everyone is used to me borrowing cash all the time cause I never have it. She had a twenty. She knew I was good for it. “hey do you mind talking to homeless people?” I asked. “No. why?” she said. Cause there’s this lady out there and she doesn’t have any shoes. Can you go give her this twenty and this six bucks and I'll pay you back? Tell her to buy some shoes.” 

Kind of a half step I know.  I could have gone up to her myself but I just couldn’t do it. I stood behind some bushes and watched. ‘Thanks Mary,” I say when she meets me by the bushes. “You don't have to pay me back Ed,” she tells me. “You're always doing stuff like that Fishy huh? You’re a giver.” she says. I think ‘God if she only knew. I'm the most self obsessed fucker in the world. I fly to New York to get my hair cut. That's not a giver. That's a fucking narcissist.’ I wish I wasn't this way. I wish I was a giver. It's not hard to give someone twenty-six dollars. How fucking hard is that? But I think it's a step in the right direction. Taking action rather than thinking about it. That's the challenge.