I’m not normally a fan of memoirs, but during my most recent Kindle book sample perusal, I came across journalist Tommy Tomlinson’s memoir, “The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man’s Quest to Get Smaller in a Growing America.” It hooked me right away with its savage honesty, and I found myself really pulling for the author. His is a tough addiction to beat, and there but for the grace of God go I, as my spirit animal is a fat man. Tomlinson is at his best when he writes about his own shame, and I very much empathize. One of my favorite chapters is one in which he talks about USUCK FM, which is what he dubs the “radio station” of negative self-talk that plays in his head constantly. I, too, have a radio station that is on the air in my head 24/7, although it’s not quite as brutal as his, and it has let up on the viciousness a bit over the years. I wouldn’t call it USUCK FM; maybe something more nuanced like, “Everyone’s Going to Abandon U if U Assert Your Needs FM,” or “UNWORTHY FM.” Every now and then I fiddle with the dial to adjust it to a more inspiring station, but it seems to be stuck.
Speaking of shame, I know that I said I would keep the shooting stuff to the new blog, but I haven’t made a final decision on where to house it yet, so I’m still going to yammer about it here for now. I did better at the range today than I ever have before in terms of aim, but I was getting used to a new pistol with a very heavy trigger pull, and, well, I sort of shot a binder clip to smithereens by accident. Since the clip is what holds the target paper in place, there was no choice but to leave the floor, do the Walk of Shame up to the counter, and ask the guy for another one. He was not amused. He glowered at me and barked, “Watch your angles!” I apologized abjectly and promised to do so. I am pleased to report that I didn’t hit anymore binder clips, my shots were steady and my groups were…if not exactly tight, at least within walking distance of each other. Progress!
I am also pleased to report that despite my personal negative self-talk station, I was able to assert myself in an area that has zero meaningful impact—the afore-mentioned game “Dealer’s Life.” I followed Mr. Typist’s aggressive techniques to the letter, and I’m two million in, baby! I’m beginning to enjoy kicking the grifters out of my store and browbeating my customers into submitting to my will. However, lesson learned: I realize now it wasn’t wise to collude with law enforcement to put a Mafia member who was shaking me down behind bars. Turns out, when they get sprung, they’re pretty mad. Now I have to pay a “tax” to this lowlife or he breaks all of my high-end goods. Being a business lady is hard.